


Bring Me The Horizon

by CallaBronteDarling



Category: 6 Underground (2019)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Engineering, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heist, Kidnapping, Like super slow burn I'm so sorry, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Parkour, Reader-Insert, Rock Climbing, Seven is Such a Mom, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, The Ghosts Get Beaten to a Pulp, Torture, Violence, Why is Everyone so Sassy?, You're a badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25236034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallaBronteDarling/pseuds/CallaBronteDarling
Summary: Your climbing partner just died, your job is unsatisfying, you haven't spoken to your parents in years, the only news you hear on the TV is bad, and you're disillusioned with the entire system. There has to be some good left in this world, right? While perched on the top of a cliff, a weird man gives you the opportunity of a lifetime; the only price: death. Well, faking your death, becoming a ghost, kicking ass, and dealing with a sassy blonde to overthrow some of the most corrupt people in the world.I suck at summaries. Basically, this story begins after the ghosts get back from the fiasco in Italy with the addition of Seven and Eight to the team. I plan to have the plot follow along with what happens in the movie, but fill in some gaps and run with some hints dropped in the movie to set the stage for what happens after the ghosts return from Turgistan.This is my very first fanfic so please be kind in the comments.
Relationships: Four | Billy (6 Underground) & Original Character(s), Four | Billy (6 Underground)/Original Character(s), One/Seven | Blaine (6 Underground), Three | Javier/Two | Camille (6 Underground)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	1. A Leap Of Faith

The rock under your calloused hands was rough, creating excellent grip. A cool breeze caught a strand of your hair and blew it in wild patterns around your head. The scent of butterscotch from pine trees and hot, baked stone filled your world. Yes, this was where you felt free. Hundreds of feet above the town of Boulder, Colorado. No rope tied you down, there were no pads at the bottom of the rock to save your life. Yes, it was risky, but the thrill that came from free soloing the second flatiron was well worth it. You had grown up in Boulder, joined a rock climbing team when you were ten years old, and competed up to the national level by the time your were in high school. You had considered pursuing climbing as a sport once it was announced that climbing would be in the 2020 Tokyo Olympics, but life had pulled you in a different direction.  
You had attended a conference at the local university that opened your eyes to the harsh reality of climate change. After some unsatisfying answers from the panelists and a strange conversation you had with a stranger who reminded you of the guy from the movie Dead Pool you made a resolution. Instead of echoing all the harm and false promises of past generations, you would fight to make a positive difference in the world by whatever means possible. Abandoning your dreams of being an Olympic climber, you enrolled in college to pursue a degree in Environmental Engineering.  
But it hadn’t turned out the way you had planned. You graduated from the University of Colorado Boulder with a Masters in Environmental Engineering and a fine job offer from a private consulting firm designing sanitation systems. You accepted the offer since the company claimed to focus on energy recovery from the water and sewage treatment processes and advertised encouraging employees to volunteer in developing countries to design sanitation systems. But, as was true with most private firms, the company was first and foremost: a business. They only cared about the hours you worked so they could charge the clients accordingly and they rarely took on projects that would reduce their carbon footprint. You felt bored. Bored and useless and frustrated. There had to be a more effective and efficient way of helping people and the planet. Still, you kept going to work. The monotonous cycle of waking up, drinking coffee, putting on a fake smile, and hustling yourself out the door was fueled with the desperate hope that someday you would have the guts to go rouge and break free of the system. But all that changed with a phone call.  
You hadn’t climbed since the accident. It felt disrespectful. Like giving the middle finger to your partner, who had lost their life soloing the First Flatiron a month earlier. “Climbing is inherently dangerous.” Wasn’t that what every climbing gym was legally required to tell you when you got a membership. You climbed at your own risk. Of course, there were safe ways to climb. If you had agreed to join your partner that morning for a dawn assent, things could have been different. You could have used a rope and placed safety gear. You could have guided them on a safer path, since it was their first time climbing the 10 pitch face. You could have instead decided to climb in a different area altogether; it wasn’t like there was a lack of climbing in Boulder. But no, you chose to sleep in before another monotonous day of wearing a pencil skirt and cashmere cardigan to a frigid office building. If only you had known how horribly the day would have ended. If only.  
The authorities reported that a piece of the rock face had broken off near the middle of the sixth pitch. Unable to find purchase on the smooth limestone face, your partner, roommate, and best friend had bumped and tumbled their way down to the base of the rock, 600 feet below. A group of climbers about to start their assent had witnessed the entire thing, before calling in the dead body of the person you loved most in the world. Everything in your life was going to shit. So here you were, climbing out your frustration, flirting with danger, avoiding reality, and challenging gravity.  
Two thirds of the way up the second flatiron was a jutting rock that stuck out taller than the remainder of the climb like a shark fin. It was called the Leap of Faith. A ‘simple’, 6 foot jump to the slab below would have the climber continuing merrily along their way. But a misstep, a bad landing, a jump without full commitment and sturdy ankles would send the climber tumbling down the 1000 foot face to their death. You perched at the edge and hung one leg over the side, straddling the rock between the valley below and gap of empty air between you and rock face above. This part always terrified you, even though it was easy, as far as your background in competitive and outdoor climbing was concerned. The mental challenge of jumping off a literal cliff made you pause and required a mini pep-talk before you were able to commit to the jump. As demonstrated by your dead climbing partner, even the strongest climber can-and will- fall. It was only a matter of time.  
Your thoughts ran in circles: your dead friend, the immeasurable amount of guilt that weighted your heart down, your ever growing frustration with politics around climate change, your job at an engineering consulting firm that claimed to be doing positive work but was really only focused on money. You were spiraling, and you let it happen. Leaning in to the sorrow and frustration, you finally let a tear fall, then another, and another.  
“I was wondering when you would end up here,” the voice of a ghost startled you from the ocean of tears. You squinted through your water logged eyelashes to find a moderately attractive man in a pair of awkwardly large climbing shoes and aviator sun glasses sitting on the rock just beyond the gap, about ten feet above you. “I’ve been waiting for you to climb your way up here for a month now. The first couple times I climbed up here I thought I would roll right off the mountain, but Four told be I was being a wimp.”

***

6 Years Earlier 

The spring of your senior year in high school had you on edge. The world was expecting you to make a the life defining choice: sports or college. And if college, then which one? Public or Private university? Did you get into the honors program? What about scholarships? And god forbid if the major you were interested in wasn’t what was expected then there was the classic retelling of every other person’s experience going to college. It was smothering. All you wanted was to make a positive difference in the world. To get away from the drawl of AP Econ, you ditched class and walked up The Hill to the university.  
It was Conference on World Affairs week, and you had wanted to attend one of the conferences for years now. Speakers were brought in from all over the world to form panels and have discussions about all kinds of topics. You wandered in to a historic looking, sandstone building covered in ivy and follow the instructions on a piece of paper taped to the door that pointed you to a large lecture hall. Picking a seat near the back, you sat down next to a man in his late twenties with blond red hair and a fine navy suit. A pair of aviators hung from his front pocket as his thumbs manically typed on his fancy smart phone. You got the feeling he was someone important, but turned your thoughts to the brochure you picked up at the door. “The Economics of Climate Change.”  
The talk was fascinating-if not extremely depressing. The speakers were a group of elderly scientists, politicians, and economists discussing the impacts of a rising average global temperature. The scientists called for more funding to research the improvement of efficiencies of renewable energy sources. The economists outlined the long term costs of rebuilding from raging wildfires, flooded cities slowly sinking into the ocean, and the increasing respiratory problems that came from the burning of coal, and gasoline. But also, the cost to rebuild the infrastructure would be astronomical. The politicians sat in silence until the end, when they confirmed that the need for change was not enough to justify the capital costs necessary. It made your blood boil. The old men in fancy suits were willing to throw away the quality of life of future generations to keep costs down for their generation- at least, that’s how you saw it. When the time came for questions, you raised your hand.  
“How would you explain the future state of the world to your grand children when they ask why there is no more potable water and people are dying from high levels of air pollution?”  
There was a moment of silence from the panel at the front of the room. One man awkwardly adjusted his tie while the woman sitting next to him took an unnaturally long sip of water. Finally, a gruff, old man at the end of the table with snow with hair and round spectacles took the microphone.  
“That is the challenge your generation has the opportunity to find a solution for.”  
Really? That’s it? That’s all these ‘brilliant’ minds had to give you? Place the problem in your lap and not look back? A pit opened in the bottom of your stomach as you sat down, letting the discussion move on to answer other questions. But you had stopped paying attention, your mind turning and turning. Rage, indignation, and passion swirled around. Before you knew it, the talk was over and the room was slowly emptying. You stood to leave and found your path blocked by your neighbor in the suit.  
“Hey,” he holds his hand out to you, “good question. Mind if I ask you more about your opinions on the topic.”  
“Um,” you were hesitant to shake his hand well manicured hand.  
“I’m just trying to gauge an opinion from someone who isn’t over the age of 50 and will actually be facing these problems in their lifetime.” He gave you a charming smile before picking up his suit jacket from the chair. “Walk with me.”  
You were always warned not to talk to strangers, but something about this man was giving you a different vibe than you got from most people older than you. He was willing, even eager, to listen to your honest opinion - something that no adult had ever thought to ask you for on such a ‘complex’ and ‘mature’. You followed him out of the building and began strolling down a sandstone path that circled a small pond in the center of the campus.  
“So what do you think about all that?”  
“Honestly? I think climate change is everyone’s problem, not just future generations.”  
“And how would you approach tackling the issue?”  
“First, I would try way the panel explained it, the world needs a lot of money and a lot of people willing to sacrifice convenience for change.”  
“Ok, so if you had all the money in the would, what would you do to fix the problem?”  
“Fund research, rebuild the entire system from the bottom up, force countries to take responsibility for their waste and not dump it on other countries. Help war torn countries have enough food and water and overthrow the tyrants in charge. Climate change isn’t just a scientific question, it is also a human health crisis that exists beyond a developed country’s borders.”  
“Not all of that sounds amicable.”  
“I guess not all of it can be accomplished by signing into global climate agreements.”  
“So you would use unconventional methods of forcing change?” The man stopped walking and picked up a stick from the ground. “What about everyone who would oppose you? Oil tycoons and the like.”  
“I don’t know. How do you convince people to care about others? How do you convince them that this problem is worth caring about?”  
“Violence?” The man cracked the stick in half. “Bribery?” He started pealing the bark off one side. “War?”  
You watched his hands work on the bark before examining his face. Despite the bright spring sun, he hadn’t put on his aviators. The man had young features, but signs of aging were peaking through in the wrinkles of stress on his brow. Dark circles cradled eyes that saw deep into the fabric of the world. He would be almost handsome if he didn’t look so tired. Something was weighing him down.  
“Sometimes, I just want to disappear-like a ghost.” You felt some of the weight transfer from the man’s shoulders to yours. “The problems placed on us are too massive to be tackled alone. Even if change starts from the bottom, the world still faces a select few that would chose power over humanity. And they are the ones who won’t start the process of change, despite having the resources and means to be the catalyst.” Your toe found the edge of one of the sandstone rocks in the path and started kicking the dirt around it.  
“And what would you do if you could disappear?” A strong arm tossed one side of the stick into reeds of the pond.  
“I would wreck havoc on those few. I would move their money around. I would break down their empires and start to heal things.” You paused for a moment realizing that you had let your calm composure slip. Rebuilding the wall you had started to knock down you quickly covered up your moment of fire with a footnote. “But all that stuff is illegal, and I don’t think I could kill someone.”  
“Even if you were out of reach of the law, you wouldn’t kill?” His eyebrows rose with the question.  
“I don’t know.” You looked back at the finely dressed man and let the emotions fill you once more. “I want to believe that I can live a peaceful life. But it’s naive to think that big change comes without violence. I just don’t see myself having the opportunity.”  
“And why not?” The man smirked at you.  
“Have you seen me? To society I am a clueless, lost 18 year old about graduate high school. I don’t know my place in the world, what the hell I’m going to do with my life, and, according to my parents, I’m incapable of understanding how the ‘real world’” you hold up your hands in air quotations,”works. I’ll go to college, get a degree, hopefully one that I am passionate about, graduate, get a job, contribute to society, do everything in my power to vote, go to protests, volunteer, grow old, and die. The system has it all outlined. All I have to do is color in the lines.” You released a frustrated sigh as you realized you were shouting. Why were you getting so worked up about this? And why were you having such a deep conversation with a stranger. You reigned yourself back in. “Sorry. I’m a little disillusioned with the system.”  
The man chuckled a warm laugh.  
“Me too, kid.” He ran a hand through his gel-spiked hair and let out a defeated sigh. “It seems like conventional methods of helping people do not result in permanent change.” He stood and walked over to edge of the pond. “But,” with a pause he looked you dead in the eye. “Maybe if there were ghosts, things could be different.” There was a glint to his face as he give a big wind up before throwing the other half of the stick into the pond, startling a family of ducks in the process.  
“Ghosts,” you sounded skeptical now. Back tracking you asked him to clarify, “Ghosts, like dead people coming back to haunt the living?” The man barked out a laugh.  
“Now there’s an idea.” He grinned. You were beginning to think this guy was short a couple of marbles.  
“You’re going to disappear?”  
“Maybe.” He turned and started walking away. “I’m off to Italy to see the Opera.” He turned and waved over his shoulder, “I’ll be in touch.” 

****  
“It’s you.” Wow, eloquent, Y/N. Your inner dialogue was sassy when she was in shock.  
“I’m here to make you an offer.” The man had ditched the nice suit and grown a scruff of a beard but it was definitely the ‘crazy ghost man’ from the day you ditched class. If you had known you would have had soul searching conversations with strangers, you would have ditched class more often. You wiped your eyes on your arm and managed to get climbing chalk all over your face.  
“And what would that be?”  
“You don’t like your life.” He stated, plain and simple. “From what I’ve seen you tried to make a difference, just like you said you would. But it hasn’t been enough. You expected more.”  
“You’ve been watching me?” Creepy.  
“Yeah, that’s not the point.” He brushed the comment off and shifted his weight awkwardly onto the other foot. “Shit, how does Four make this look so easy?” A loose pebble was sent bumping down the rock face.  
“Rock!” you yelled down the mountain as the man clumsily sent an even larger stone falling below. The falling stones could really hurt someone; maybe hit an unsuspecting climber on the head or even knock them off the mountain to their death. What an amateur. If there was one thing that ground your gears it was climbers who got on a climb before they had the skills to be up there safely, thus putting other climbers at risk.  
“Shhh” The man hissed. “You’re interrupting my introduction. This is the most epic one I have planned to date.”  
“You could have seriously hurt someone below us.” You stared incredulously at him.  
“No one is up here but us. I made sure of it.” Huh? Who did this guy think he was?  
“Anyways, I assume you remember our chat a couple years ago. What do you think? Are you ready to disappear?” Was this guy for real? He actually took what you said in a fit of lost teenage passion and brought it to fruition?  
“I said those things before I had tasted how the real world works.” You stretched your brain back in time; trying to remember the conversation. “You expect me to believe that leading an off-the-grid vigilante life is going to change things?”  
“Yes.” He was dead serious. “I see you aren’t convinced. I can’t expect you to be the same person you were back then. The system has definitely groomed you into a ‘good girl’ but I hope you haven’t lost any of that fire and passion I saw.” You glared at him. Passion? Fire? and the worse offense yet: good girl? What was he preaching? Or, you corrected yourself, what was he smoking?  
“Let me explain. Maybe, we could chat in a place a little less,” his eyebrows lifted into a worried crinkle as looked down the steep and exposed rock face, “vulnerable?” His arrogance bothered you more than any engineer you had ever interacted with at school or at work -and engineers were about as arrogant as a person could get.  
“No.” You could see his feathers ruffle. “You can explain everything up here.” You didn’t like being bossed around. At least up here you seemed to be the one with the most control of the situation. Heights didn’t bother you and climbing came more naturally that walking. Let the man squirm a little.  
“Fine,” his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “ My name is One. I have a lot of money; like a fuck ton of money. I tried to go through the conventional methods of helping people. Funding large donations of medical aid, water, and food to the middle east. But it didn’t change a thing. Those people are a mixture of political and climate refugees. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I could make the biggest difference by changing the rules of the game. So I become a ghost.”  
“A ghost.” You echoed. “How original.”  
“Consider yourself part of the namesake inspiration.” He smirked. “After the Conference on World Affairs I started the process of disappearing. To shorten this story by a few years, I set aside resources, funding, and technology before finally faking my own death. I’m now legally dead and, by default, out of reach of the law or any other barriers of the world of the living. But, I still need a team. While it pains me to admit it,” yeah, you bet it pained this asshole to admit he couldn’t execute his world-saving on his own. “I’m not the best at everything. So I gathered some,” he paused for a second, searching for the right word, “experts of their fields. We work as a team to bring down the tyrants in power. That’s where you come in.”  
“What do I contribute?” You racked your brain for any unlawful acts that could have landed you into being recruited for a highly illegal organization of killers. It was safe to say that your resume has no crime related skills.  
“You are passionate. You know how systems work. You’re an engineer. You solve problems in creative ways. And you have other skills.” He gestured to the rock around him. “I have a guy who does something similar to this, but for what I have envisioned, the team will need another skywalker.”  
“What is this? Star wars?” you asked. Confused by the would-be epic name if pop culture hadn’t already already claimed the term.  
“Yeah, that’s not the point.” One said, brushing past your criticism. “I know you're more capable than what you give yourself credit for, and I know you need to get out of this city. Escape the strict rules and expectations you set for yourself.”  
“And what will I give up?” Ghosts escaped the law, but there had to be a price.  
“Well, for starters, your name. You must give up your whole identity. You will be restricted to cities you have never been to before. You will have to completely vanish.”  
“Like a ghost?”  
“Yes, like a ghost. How many more times do we have to say the word ‘ghost’?”  
You inhaled deeply. A new life. A new start. Maybe you could escape the ghost of your climbing partner by becoming a ghost yourself. It all seemed slightly romanticized. But your life here, while seemingly complete on the outside, was empty. Work was unfulfilling, your best friend and partner was dead, even climbing was not as successful as a distraction from reality as it used to be. The freedom it gave you was like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound; a facade for all the things wrong beneath the surface. Exhaling, you stood up. You looked One dead in the eyes (at least where you guessed they were behind his aviator sunglasses).  
“Ok,” you shrugged your shoulders, “I’m in.”  
And with that, you jumped; executing the Leap of Faith perfectly.


	2. Why are Introductions so Awkward?

You were the kind of person who needed to be in control of everything. You scheduled things weeks in advance, had a color coded planner, and so help you if someone took away your license to Microsoft Excel you might actually commit murder. Hiking down the mountain with One was the first time you had felt in control of your life since you made the decision to study engineering instead of medicine (sorry mom and dad, you couldn’t be the stereotypical perfect daughter they had always wanted). The plan for your death was a no-brainer: climbing accident, plain and simple. You didn’t have a ton of friends at your funeral since you didn’t have a ton of friends in your life to begin with. Your parents were heart broken, or as heart broken as you thought they could be. You could clearly hear their voices in your mind without their conversations being picked up by the weird technology One was using to eves drop on your funeral.   
“We warned her that climbing was dangerous. She was especially stupid for climbing without a partner or protection.” Yeah, even in death you were still disappointing them; insert eye-roll here, you mentally signed.  
“Let’s go,” you said to One. You didn’t want to hear what other criticisms they shared at your funeral.

In his salmon pink shorts, pale blue button up t-shirt, and boat shoes, One fit right in with about half the population of the city. Boulder was a mixture of environmental conscious millionaires and scrappy, tree hugging hippies. You fit more into the latter category. Despite having a well paying job that required nothing less than business casual except on the last Friday of every month, you preferred the classic ‘jeans and a t-shirt’ or ‘just got back from hiking/going to the gym’ look. The majority of your clothes were always covered in chalk from the climbing gym and no matter how many times you washed them, they were never returned to their original color.

You took a rental Tesla to One’s private jet at the Boulder County Airport. The flight from Colorado to California was only a couple hours. You spent the ride in the copilot seat, asking One a list of questions a mile long.  
“So what’s your name?”  
“One.”   
“No, your real name.”  
“We don’t use our names. Numbers protect our identity and keep us safe.”  
“You mean they make you less human.”  
“They keep us safe. Don’t get too close to the people here. You never know when the last time is the last time. It’s best to maintain a professional working environment.” A touch of sadness and regret flashes across One’s face. But as soon as you caught a glimpse of any emotion, it was quickly wiped away.  
“So which number am I?”  
“Eight.”  
“So there are eight of us on the team?”  
“No, there are seven total.”   
“Oh.”   
When the plane landed in the California desert you wished you had packed sunscreen- there was no way you would be able to avoid getting a sun burn. Disembarking from the plane, you found yourself looking at an abandoned airplane graveyard. The broken bodies of the metal birds lay scattered for miles around you, slowly rusting into scrap metal.  
“Here, grab a bag.” One passed you one of your duffels. You had recovered some of your possessions after faking your death. You weren’t on the best of terms with your parents and they had no idea what was ‘normally’ in your apartment and closet. One had let you keep some clothes, text books, and climbing gear which you now found yourself hauling to a, for lack of a better word, dilapidated, trailer.   
“I asked the others to clean the place up a little for you,” One explained, pulling a key out of his pocket and handing it to you, “but I guess they didn’t get around to it yet. I didn’t know how long it would take to find you. They aren’t expecting us until Saturday.”   
“Oh, ok.” You opened the trailer’s screen door and winced as an awful creaking sound of protest from the rusty hinges welcomed you to your new home. Unlocking the deadbolt, you pushed the door open to the sight of dust moats circling a sparsely filled room. Coughing away the dust, you carried your bags in and ditched them on the threadbare couch.  
“We can install air conditioning and get you proper bedding once you get settled.”   
“Sounds good.” You coughed again as you opened the windows in a feeble attempt to air the place out. “And maybe we can get some cleaning supplies or something?”  
The bed was a mattress propped up on wooden slats. A small table with a single, lonely chair sat in a muddle of cobwebs and was that a…  
“Centipede!!!” You screamed and bolted from the trailer to take shelter behind your new boss. Heights: no problem. Stupidly hard math problems: bring it on. Even spiders: that’s fine just invite it outside. But long wiggly danger noodles such as snakes or centipedes: hell no. One rolled his eyes.   
“Is this going to be a problem?”   
“Yes. Definitely. A massive problem.”   
“Fine. I’ll see who is around after I give you the tour.”  
One gave you a full run down of the place: bathrooms, community showers, no hot water (you make a mental note to fix that first thing in the morning), med bay, training gym, weapon inventory, One’s office, kitchen, and the team room. The tour wrapped up in a large, abandoned airplane control room. Modern technology clashed against the rusted walls and florescent lights hung precariously from the ceiling, gloomily illuminating a large table in the middle of the room. Along one wall was a line of pictures covered in large numbers.   
“These are our high priority targets.” One said. Unveiling the black and white image under the large number “1” label.   
“Who is he?”  
“ Rovach Alimov,“ He runs his country based on fear and oppression.   
“I recognize him. I think I saw him on the news. He used chemical weapons on his own people while they sought refuge in a neighboring country.” You felt sick just thinking about a power hungry tyrant forcing his people, children, the future of his country, to choke on poisonous gas.   
“We will debrief tomorrow when the full team is here on the full plan for how to bring him down.” You nodded and followed One around the large meeting table to the door. Your brain felt fuzzy and full of cotton as the day started catching up with you. Who knew faking your death would be so exhausting. One deposited you at your trailer. You make him sweep out the cobwebs and centipedes before finally saying goodnight.   
“You owe me one.” He grumbled, before stepping out of the trailer with a broom and dust pan. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry. The daily debrief is tomorrow at 9 O’clock sharp in the team room.”   
And with that, you were left to your less dusty and centipede-free trailer. Opening a rickety wardrobe, you found a scratchy blanket and spread it out on the mattress. You dug through your duffel bag until you found your toothbrush, a headlamp, and your journal. Clicking on the headlamp, you settled down on the mattress and began to write. Journaling had always been your form of self care. It kept you sane during the competitive exams of engineering, the suffocating glare of your parents, and the death of your best friend. Reading back through the pages from the last month, you had realized that they had been more than just a climbing partner or a friend. You had just never realized how you felt until it was too late. A sob escaped from your lips and disappeared into the night. You hiccuped down another sob, and vowed that in this new life, you will be more assertive. The pillow smelled like the hot desert sun, parched dust moats, possibly something dead, and laundry detergent. This was your home now, you told yourself, but you weren’t entirely convinced. 

  
A glimmer of dancing colors was the first thing your brain recognized as consciousness poked you on the shoulder. The early morning sun reflected off a crystal that hung from the ceiling of the trailer. You must have missed it the previous evening as you were settling in at dusk. Rainbows danced in the crisp morning air, illuminating the couch to be a shabby sage green. A small lamp sat on the dresser next to the make-shift bed frame. The wardrobe across from you stood less ominous in the dawn but the fact that one of its doors did not fully close seriously bothered you. You started making a mental list of all the home decorating you planned on doing before glancing at your watch. 7 AM. Hopefully you could fix the hot water heater for the showers before breakfast. You had worked in the water treatment industry for a year and spent multiple summer internships working for the City of Boulder. They would always send the interns to respond to a call about a busted pipe.   
Gathering a set of clean clothes, your travel toiletries, and your toothbrush you set out on your mission. Finding the hot water heater behind the showers was easy. Locating the plumbing tools proved to be harder. It seemed like there wasn’t a lot of up-keep on the plumbing of the place. What kind of ghost team was One running? Luckily, you didn’t need plumbing tools to fix the problem. The hot water heater wasn’t actually plugged in to any source of electricity. As a matter of fact, there was no electricity outlet to plug the damn thing into. Well then, a cold shower it was.   
The water wasn’t actually that cold. The water tank sat outside in the sun, and was already heating up in the early morning heat. Problem solved, this would work all summer, and by the time fall rolled around, you would install a small generator or solar panels. You formed plans about the new water heating system you were mentally designing as the showers filled with the smell of lavender and gardenias. Once you were clean and fresh you dropped your dirty clothes back in your trailer before heading to the kitchen. The place was empty. Where was everyone? One had said you were number eight. So there had to be five other people you hadn’t met yet. You found the coffee easily enough along with an industrial sized french press that could caffeinate a small army. Next step was food.   
The selection of cereal was of the “sugar as the first four ingredients” nature, but, tucked behind the tumble of artificially colored ‘candy’, as your mother would call it, you found a box of rolled oats. Oatmeal was your favorite and you quickly had a bowl cooked up with an added dash of cinnamon. Sitting at the bar sipping on your coffee you heard a car rumble into the base. Carefully peeling back a curtain at the window, you watched as five people (three men and two women) piled out of the Kermit green Jeep.   
“Hey, Seven, park her in the garage, will ya.” A scruffy dark haired man tossed a set of keys to a tall man with a strong build and dark skin.   
“Sure, sure. But breakfast will be late.” the man caught the keys and replied in a light voice.  
“Don’t worry, man. I know the basics of cooking.” The first man chuckled lightly and placed an arm around one of the women. She had gorgeous blond hair and the build of a French model.  
“All you know how to make is cereal.” The dark man with perfect posture,-Seven-you deduced, jabbed back.  
“All I care about is coffee,” the other woman, slightly curvier with sleek hair the color of raven feathers said around a yawn. “We were out all night.”   
“Someone make Five some coffee before she falls asleep on her feet.” Seven instructed as he jumped into the drivers seat.   
“Oh shit guys.” The blond man was dressed in a navy blue hoodie and cargo shorts. He pushed the sleeves of the hoodie up and turned from his friends to the air strip where the private jet was parked. “One’s back.”  
“What?!” The dark haired woman, Five, gasped and stood up straight, now wide awake. “One never called to tell us he was coming home.”  
“I think the bigger topic here is that we now have an Eight.” The French model said, with a french accent. Damn! You weren’t trying to judge people based on how they looked, but you had nailed that one.   
“Who do you think it is, Two?” The dark haired man asked the woman in his arms. “Weren’t you helping One find someone?”  
“I gave him a list of people from the CIA who I thought would be strong candidates. Especially ones who are good at hacking.” The woman replied, stepping out of the man’s arms. It seemed like the thought of One made her want to physically separate from the man with tattoos.   
“We definitely need a hacker,” the man said. Looking dejected as the woman took a couple steps away.  
“He didn’t pick a hacker,” the blonde man said in a British accent. He looked younger than the others, but it was hard to tell how old he really was since his forearms were rippled with lean muscle. You had seen that same build in rock climbers; their forearms were as big as their biceps.   
“How do you know, Four?” Five asked the man, crossing her arms over her chest.   
“A couple weeks ago, One asked me if I knew anything about rock climbing. I told him some basics, but that stuff ain’t really my thing. Then, a week ago, he called me out of the blue. He said he was on the top of a slab of rock and he had no idea how to get down.” Four chuckled softly, “Wanker.” He muttered, slightly annoyed but mostly amused that One had to ask for help.  
“So when he was out recruiting he found himself on an exposed rock face?” Five asked. “That makes no sense. We need a driver or a hacker. Not another skywalker, that’s Four’s job.” The pieces were falling in to place from the conversation you had had with One earlier that week.   
“Hey now,” Seven spoke from the Jeep. “We don’t know this person yet. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” It looked like Seven was going to be your biggest ally in this pack of wolves. You felt yourself sinking down in your seat, your spine compressing as you tried to make yourself seem small.   
“Yeah, whatever.” Four said, bristling, you guessed, at mention of being replaced. “It would have been nice for One to at least share his plans.”   
“In your dreams.” Two replied. “The man is an enigma.”  
“Hey, weren’t we supposed to prepare the trailer?” Three or Six (there were only two number remaining) asked to no one in particular.   
“Shit, you’re right.” Seven ran a hand over his buzzed head.  
“It’s too late now, they’re already here.” Five groaned. “Can we please make coffee now. I don’t think I will survive the DD unless I get some caffeine.”   
“You aren’t even a decent human in the morning until you have your coffee.” Two took her friend’s hand. “Let’s go.” They started heading in your direction to the kitchen. Suddenly, you felt your heart rate pick up as you quickly let the curtain drop back in to place. You weren’t prepared to meet everyone yet. You wiped your sweaty palms on your cotton t-shirt before taking a nervous sip of coffee. Luckily, you had made plenty extra. Two and Five’s voices crescendoed as they approached the kitchen. All chatter came to a sudden stop as they stepped though the sliding screen door. Both women stared at you, mouths agape as they took in the stranger at their breakfast counter. Up close, Two and Five were drop dead gorgeous and, you inferred, equally as lethal.   
“Morning.” You squeaked out in what you hoped to be a bright voice. “I made coffee.” You gestured to the french press on the counter.   
“Morning.” Five stammered out, before making a B-line for the cabinet with the mugs. Two opened the fridge and began preparing a bowl of yogurt in silence, completely ignoring you but listening in on everything.   
“So,” Five sat down on the bench directly across the table from you. “I’m assuming you are magic number Eight.” She took a sip of her coffee, black, no cream or sugar. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Not bad coffee.” You could only nod. How on earth were her eye lashes naturally that long and full?  
“So what is it that you do?” Two joined in on the interrogation. You swallowed hard before answering.  
“I’m an engineer.” The two women exchanged looks.   
“Oh, Ok. Like rockets and jets and things that go vroom and boom and all that jazz.” Five looked approvingly at you.  
“No, not quite like that” you paused as they both looked at you like there couldn’t possibly be any other kind of engineer.  
“So computer science then?” Two asked, starting to sound skeptical.   
“No,” you paused again. You had always dreaded telling people your major. They never seemed to understand what it meant, and ultimately ended up chalking it down to not being a real engineering major. “I’m an environmental engineer.”  
“What does that mean?” Two asked, crinkling her nose.   
“I examine how humans interact with the environment and try to reduce the impact we have.”   
“The, impact?” Five took a sip of coffee. “So you clean up after people?”   
“Well when you put it like that,” you started but never got to finish your sentence. At that moment, the screen door slammed open as the dark haired man and Four entered the now crowded kitchen. Their jovial conversation ended abruptly as a pair of piercing chocolate eyes and set of warm green one locked onto yours.   
“Ahhh, Quien es eso?”   
“Three, meet Eight,” Two answered. “She’s and engineer.”  
“Woah, so fancy!” The man, Three, rushed over to you, sitting down on the bench next to you and fervently shook your hand. “I’m Three.”   
“Hi,” you felt the word shaken out of you from the vigor of Three’s handshake.   
“Cuatro,” Three called over to the blonde as the man set a tea pot on the stove. “Don’t be rude, introduce yourself.” Four turned towards you for the briefest of moments, barely making eye contact, and gave a gruff,   
“morning,” before pulling the hood on his jacket up and going back to the fascinating task of watching water boil.   
“So, you’re an engineer.” Three looked you up and down. He didn’t seem too impressed by your lithe figure, but seemed to brush it off once he saw your muscular shoulders peaking out from your tank top. “You make rockets and stuff like that.”  
“Well no, I” you tried again to explain but Five cut you off.  
“She’s not that kind of engineer. She was just about to tell us what she actually does.” All eyes in the room fell on you.   
“I’m an environmental engineer. I build water treatment systems and air pollution control technology.”  
“But nothing that goes boom?” Four asked, turning his body in your direction and crossing his arms over his broad chest.  
“No but I can clean up chemical spills with bacteria.”  
“And nothing that can hack into a high security computer system?” Four probed again. Annoyance began to bubble in the pit of your stomach, but you remained in control of your emotions.  
“No, but I can design treatment systems to collect methane gas and,” Four cut you off again.  
“Please tell me you can at least drive a stick shift.”   
“Well,” you stammered, taken aback by the man’s hostility. “I learned how to drive on one but I haven’t driven one in a while.”  
“Well shit!” Four exploded over his fresh cup of tea. “Then why are you even here?”  
“Hey now!” All heads turned to see One in the kitchen doorway. “What did she ever do to you?” Four grumbled something under his breath before turning back to spreading jam over his toast. You hated how One had stepped in like that. This was not how you had pictured your first day.   
“The real question is,” One poured himself a cup of coffee, before turning back to face the now crowded kitchen space, “where the hell were you last night?”   
“Reconnaissance mission.” Two said smoothly, not breaking eye contact with One. “Your files said Las Vegas was the next stop.”   
“You read my mission files?” One’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “That is private information. We are a team. We work together. No missions happen without my approval.”  
“Well you were gone for a while and there is only so much waiting around we can do in this god forsaken desert.” Two shot back, bristling over her yogurt.   
“If you’re unhappy, talk to me about it. Don’t go rouge on me when I’m not here.” One sounded like an exhausted babysitter who got stuck with a pack of rebellious teenagers.   
“Yeah, fine.” Two rolled her eyes and stood up from the bench. With elegance and grace she deposited her dishes in the sink before exiting the kitchen. “I’m going to shower.”  
“Meeting in 30” One called after her.  
The rest of breakfast passed in quiet small talk. One and Three got in to a heated debate about the superior kind of get away car while Five became fascinated with the shape of her coffee mug. Four slinked out of the kitchen not long after Two, a piece of toast hung precariously from his teeth. With the space around the sink now free you got up and washed your dishes, along with the other dishes in the sink -old habits of a clean kitchen die hard- before One directed everyone to the team room for the daily debrief, or the ‘DD’ as Three explained. 

  
As you entered the dark room, you realized that you were the last one to arrive. The rest of the team sat in various locations throughout the room, apparently each had claimed a seat as their’s. Before you could escape to the back of the room where the last empty chair sat in a corner, One pulled you to the front. Oh god. It was just like elementary school and you were the new student. You were going to kill One for this. You silently bit your lip and hoped he didn’t make you do anything too embarrassing.   
“Everyone,” One looked around at his audience. “This is Eight.” He pointed at you with the rolled up bundle of papers in his hand. “Eight, I’m guessing you’ve met mostly everyone.” You nodded and hoped this was all One was planning. There was some particularly critical glares coming at you from multiple corners of the room.   
“This is Two,” he gestured to the french model, “ex CIA, expert in intelligence and guns.” Two gave you a cold and calculated look with a pair of eyes that must have been cut from the side of a glacier.  
“Over there is Seven,” One pointed the roll of papers to the man you saw drive the jeep away to park it. Unlike the others, Seven gave you a warm smile. “Seven is an Ex-military sniper. Trust him to always have your back on a mission and to make delicious food as long as you don’t trash his kitchen. He’s also new to the team like you.” Moving on to the next person, you found ominously dark vibes radiating from the back corner. Perched on top of a cabinet, a set of beautiful green eyes gave you a piercing look.   
“This is Four, our skywalker. He does a lot of the sneaky spy work. I’m planning on having you work with him on a lot of our upcoming missions.” An arrogant snort echoed around the room from the corner, but One ignored it, instead moving to the next person seated around the table.   
“This is Five, resident doctor and expert bullet remover.” Five rolled her eyes and you wondered about the history of the bullet story. You had known this job would be dangerous, but, as an experiential learner, you guessed the severity of the situation hadn’t yet resonated with you. That was until now, with the mention of bullets. You swallowed hard and gave Five what you hoped would be a genuinely warm smile. She raised her perfect eyebrows at you in a challenge.  
“And this is Three,” One gestured to the last person in the room. Three offered you a smile as One rattled off Three’s impressive resume of martial arts, gun slinging, and over all wild life story as a hit man. This team seemed complete, but you were determined to find your place. It was time to become a fighter.  
“Any questions?” One asked you. Instead, Four interjected.  
“Yeah, I’ve got one,” Four leaped down from his perch and stood tall and determined. “Darling, what are your tricks? There has to be something more than an environmental engineer or whatever it is you said you did.”  
“I can climb.” You offered.  
“Haha, we’ll see about that, Darling.” Four challenged you. “Anything else? Can you fire a gun? Stab someone?”  
“No, but I have my WFR.”  
“A woofer? You speak to animals?” Four sounded confused.  
“No it’s a medical certification.” You explained before Five jumped in.  
“Wilderness First Responder, one step below a Wilderness EMT.” Her chocolate eyes looked you up and down with a new found respect.  
“I volunteered for Search and Rescue for a couple years.” You explained. “I’ve helped bail some people out of sticky situations and kept them alive until we got them to a hospital. It’s nothing like an actual EMT or a doctor,” you gave a nod to Five, hoping she would understand the respect you have for anyone in the medical profession, “but it’s what I can contribute.”  
“That’s it?” Four sounded incredulous. “One, you want me to baby sit a wanna be rock climber with zero fighting experience, minor medical certification, and a nerdy-ass degree in a useless subject?” Ouch! Ok, that did it.   
“Hey,” you raised your voice and it echoed around the computer screens and metal walls. The ghosts seemed shocked into silence at the ferocity emanating from your glare. “If you would just let me explain, then you would know that as an environmental engineer I have just as much background in mechanics and physics as any other engineer. I also have extensive knowledge of chemistry, natural systems, sanitation systems, and the infrastructure behind them. I know how to make your drinking water too basic or acidic to drink. The disinfection byproducts of the water treatment process are carcinogenic which would suck for you if they weren’t removed properly.” You were on a role, letting your indignation fuel your verbal self defense. “And many waste systems produce methane, which can be easily collected and pressurized. All it would take is a spark before the entire place went up in flames. I also know how air particles behave inside and outside. Do you know how easy it would be to distribute a poison or noxious gas in an HVAC system? All the processes in place that protect people from the environment can be reverse engineered to have the opposite effect.” You took a deep breath and planted your feet firmly. Looking around the room, you found a mixture of expressions, ranging from shock, to pride.   
“I know I’m the new kid on the block. I know I don’t have the same resumes as you guys in terms of killing people. My body count is zero. But I have just as much reason to be here as you do.” You felt yourself deflate slightly, but the fire of indignation remained lit in your gut.  
“Now that that’s settled,” One cleared his throat and attempted to regain the focus of the room. “Eight, take a seat. We need to talk about Rovach Alimov.” You felt relieved once One took the spotlight and you retreated to the chair at the back of the long table. Sitting up with your back as straight as an arrow, you focused on One. “In order to stage a coup d’etat, we need to find the little brother, Murat. The location of the brother is only known by Rovach’s four generals. As Two previously announced at breakfast, the four generals will be taking a holiday in Vegas in three weeks time. They are there to party it up and meet a weapons dealer named Viktor. The mission will have two objectives: get the location of the little brother from the four generals and learn everything we can about the arms dealer and the chemical weapons.”   
Oh shit. Three weeks wasn’t a lot of time. One was really cutting this close you thought. 

“Three, work with Two on getting information on where the four generals will be staying. Seven, do an inventory of our weapons and make sure we have enough ear piece communication devices. Five, same task but for the medical supply closet. I don’t want us running out of something when we need it most. Get me a list of things I need to order by the end of the week. Four, do a safety check on your ropes and create some fake ID’s for employee passes for the resorts and casinos. Everyone, plan your disguises well. Don’t be conspicuous. Las Vegas has the largest amount of security cameras in the world. Remember: we are supposed to be dead. Eight, you will start training today. You will also spend some time collecting intel on the Vegas city plans. We shouldn’t need to make a quick get away but I want multiple escape routes planned just incase.”  
You nodded along with everyone else as you received your assignment. A butterfly of excitement tickled your stomach. This was real. Things were starting to happen. You felt a smile grace your face before it was quickly shattered by One’s voice calling your number. Man, it was going to be hard teaching yourself how to respond to “Eight.”  
“Eight, you’re going to start training with Seven. Just basic combat practice, followed by how to shoot a gun.”   
“Ok,” relief filled you when you heard that Seven would be your instructor of the day instead of Four. You weren’t sure what the guy’s problem was, but you also weren’t ready to confront that yet. Baby steps.  
“Meet me at the west hanger in 15 minutes. Bring water and athletic clothing.” Seven instructed before leaving the team room. 


	3. The Training Montage No One Asked For

It took you a quick 3 minutes to run back to your trailer and put on running shorts, a tank top, and to fill up a water bottle. It then took you the remaining 12 minutes to locate the west hanger. In Boulder, the mountains were always to the west. That was how you had learned the cardinal directions in the first place. But out here, the mountains were to the east. After being turned around a few times, and awkwardly being seen by Two and Four as you wander aimlessly around the base, you finally found the giant west hanger. Seven was waiting patiently, and he chuckled softly when you told him how lost you got on your way over.   
“Don’t worry, kiddo. I still get lost sometimes.”  
“I’m not a kid,” you protested.  
“That’s exactly what a kid would say.” Seven countered. You signed in defeat. Your sigh turned to a gasp of amazement as you entered the west hanger. The giant space had been converted into a gymnasium. Racks of weights lined the north wall, padded sparing mats took up most of the back corner, and there, off to the side, was a small climbing wall. Seven caught your longing glance to the wall of colorful holds and took hold of your shoulders before steering you away from your happy place.   
“Another day, Eight.” He guided you over to the sparing mats instead. “For now we are going to go through a series of warm up exercises before walking through the basics of dodging and defensive maneuvers.” The two of you fell into friendly chatter about nothing in particular. No personal questions allowed, according to One, but you slowly were able to gauge Seven’s personality. He was a patient instructor, giving very specific feedback about both what you were doing well and what you kept messing up.   
“Good job keeping your body weight balanced low to the ground.” Seven evaluated your stance. “You will be harder to knock over in this position, but” he then adjusted your knee so that it didn’t stick out far over your foot, “your knees are sticking out too far. You can’t react fast enough if you stand like this, and you will be hurt worse if I were to kick you here, like this.” Seven applied just enough force to throw you forward. With your muscles bent too much, you were unable to spring out of the way to dodge and you crashed to the pad… again. Seven offered a strong hand and pulled you back to your feet. “Not bad, not bad,” he reassured you, smiling.   
“Is it everything you had hoped it would be?” you asked during a water break.   
“What, being a ghost?” Seven asked, sitting down next to you on the mat. You nodded and took a large sip of water.   
“Honestly, I’m new here, just like you. One found me two months ago. I haven’t been on any missions yet.”  
“Do you know why everyone else here hates me?”   
“They don’t hate you, Eight. They just don’t know you. Apparently the last mission they went on ended badly.”  
“How badly?”  
“Shit-show-dead-body badly.” You grimaced. The real world was not practice mats and patient instructors. It was blood thirsty and cruel, even to the good guys. “I’m sure they spend a lot of time thinking about that last mission and how things could have ended differently. They might see us as pieces to fill in those missing roles. Or they might see us as trying to erase the person who died. Either way, we are here now. We can only do our best to be part of this team. It won’t happen overnight, but give it time. They are hurting and grieving; each in their own way.” Staring off into the distance, you thought about Seven’s words. Grief met people in strange ways, and each person welcomed her differently.   
“Let’s go for another round.” You stood to your feet and helped pull Seven back up.  
***  
The rest of the week passed in a blur of sore muscles, lots of ice packs, a new appreciation for cold showers in the California summer as the slow building blocks of a routine began to form. Every morning, your alarm went off at 6 am. You grabbed your climbing shoes and chalk to cram in a quick bouldering session before breakfast. The morning meal was still an uncomfortable affair. If Seven was present the two of you would make small talk and chat about your upcoming introduction to a gun. If Three was at the breakfast counter you found yourself explaining the big booms you could make with methane gas. But only if Two wasn’t there with him. If the mysterious model was there, the conversation remained strictly business. You’d tried asking her to help you with target practice but she always had something she was busy working on. However, a glimmer of hope came when you mentioned needing to re furnish your trailer and install an AC unit. At the mention of a shopping trip, Two had suddenly found the conversation of getting new sheets for you a fascinating subject. The two of you arranged to take the Jeep into town later that week.   
And then there was Four. You had almost forgotten that Four even ate breakfast since he never stuck around for the morning meal. You wondered where he disappeared to before the DD. You had tried talking to him but every time you took a step toward him or acknowledged his presence, he would disappear into the graveyard of planes. If he was talking to another ghost when you tried to interact, he would speak over you. What was with the guy anyways? He seemed to take the notion of you being a ‘ghost’ rather literally. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.  
After a week of dodging Seven’s attacks, you had finally advanced to actually throwing a punch. Seven gently wrapped your hands in tape before explaining how to face the opponent.  
“You don’t stand square in front of them. That gives them more surface area to hit. Stand with your feet pointing to the side and just turn your body toward the attacker.” Seven adjusted your feet slightly before positioning himself in front of you again. “Now, when you attack, put your whole body into it. Remember to rotate your torso around as well. Yes, just like that. Good.” He held up a hand pad next to his face. “Alright, let’s see you in action.”  
During your transition from physical training to the firing range around noon, you asked Seven a question.  
“Who else uses the climbing wall to train?” Seven looked over to the lonely wall. The holds were looking chalkier then he remember, and the hang boards next to the wall we definitely seeing some more use.  
“You mean besides you?” The smile in his voice made you look at him. “I think Five will get out there occasionally after sparing with Two.”  
“Is that it?” You were fishing for a different name.  
“If you mean Four, the kid has his own training ground.”   
“Where?” You looked around, trying to think of another building big enough for a parkour gym.   
“Out there, silly.” Seven pointed to the surrounding mountains. “Or up there,” he gestured to the roof of the west hanger. “Four is not one for being stuck inside all day.”  
You looked out to the horizon and imagined climbing around on the jungle gym of natural rocks. You missed the freedom of being high up in the Flatirons above Boulder, overlooking your town. Pushing nostalgia and longing aside, you turned your thoughts to a different ghost.   
After a moderately successful day at the firing range, you were able to consistently group your bullets together, even though you consistently missed any vital places on the practice dummies. It was the exact definition of the difference between precision and accuracy. Once Seven let you go for the day you set off on a mission to the trailer next to an ancient looking Boeing 747. A row of large garden boxes separated the trailer from the main path. The six foot tall sunflowers bent low as if the scorching heat was pressing them down while the tall tomato plants boasted juicy ripe fruits. You found Five sprawled on a lawn chair, her nose buried deep in a book.   
“Hey,” you walked up to her cautiously, keeping a safe distance back, just in case the she-wolf decided to attack. Five glanced up from her book and gave you an annoyed glare.  
“Yes, Eight?”   
“Seven said you liked climbing on the wall in the west hanger.” you paused and waited for any sign of recognition or indication that you were having a conversation with her. Five just looked at you.  
“I feel like we haven’t gotten to know each other yet, and I was wondering if you wanted to do a bouldering session with me tomorrow morning?” Still no response came. “Or another day if you're busy tomorrow. Really, whatever works for you is great.” Oh golly you were rambling at this point. “I’d love to hear more about your work as an ER doctor.” Five quirked her head to the side.  
“Ok, I’ll be there tomorrow.” She said cooly. You blinked. You blinked again.  
“Wait, really?” Did you hear that correctly?  
“Yes, really. Now leave me alone. I’m reading.” She shoed you away and you darted back to the safety of your own trailer but the smile of the small victory didn’t leave your face all night.   
The next morning, you were at the west hanger bright and early. As you did a warm up climb, you heard someone turn the giant fan on. Even at 7 am, the hanger was scorchingly hot. You felt the pads shift as Five plopped down next to you and started putting on her two-sizes-too-small shoes - the mark of a true climber.  
“Here,” you handed her an iced coffee. One of many peace offerings you had planned for the day.  
“Thanks.” Five smiled -she actually smiled- and took a sip before chalking up. There was no question about it, Five was a strong climber. Not Olympics bound, but she could clearly hold her own. She was hyper aware of where her body was relative to the wall and she didn’t hesitate before going for a big move. To your pleasure, she joined you in projecting the hardest climb on the wall.  
“Do you set the walls here?” you asked.  
“Yeah,” Five smiled at you. “Do you like them?”  
“Yeah!” you gushed, “The style is a ton of fun. I like all the jumps and powerful lock-offs. Where did you learn to climb?” Five walked up to the wall and rubbed chalk between her hands,  
“My dad taught me back in Spain. We would go out on the ocean and deep water solo when the local crags would fill up with tourists and the pro climbers.”  
“Five, that sounds incredible. I’ve always wanted to go deep water soloing.”   
“It’s pretty fun.” She beamed at you before starting the climb. Left hand up, cross right foot over and step through, big leap with the right hand, Five’s lithe body swung out from the wall and you heard the classic climber gasp/shriek as she used her core muscles to pull her feet back on the wall. Back in control of her lower half, Five placed her feet high and went for the next hold.  
“Nice!” you encouraged her from the mat. You couldn’t help it. Climbing was a highly encouraging culture. Everyone cheered for everyone, even in competitions.  
The doctor’s delicate fingers closed on thin air as she began the fall back to earth -just two holds from the top. Five picked herself up from the pad and walked over to you, her feet sunk deep into the mats with every step.  
“May I?” You asked. You didn’t want to give Five beta if she didn’t want it.   
“Sure,” she gestured to the wall before taking another sip of iced coffee.   
“I think it would help if you dropped your left foot at that top move. With both feet super high, you’re pushing your body too far away from the wall. You can’t generate force from that angle.” Getting on the start hold, you replicated the moves Five had just done, but then only placed one foot back on the wall after the big jump. Despite now being at a weird horizontal angle to the ground, you were able to easily stand up hard on your right foot and reached the last two holds with ease.   
You dropped back to the pads with a soft, thud.   
“I see what you mean, nice send!” Five praised. “I’ll definitely give that a try.”  
“Hey, Five.” She turned to look at you before trying the climb again. “Two and I are going into town later today to get some things for my trailer. Want to come.”  
“I’d love to.” Five smiled before focusing on the climb before her, and sending it with grace.


	4. Viktor Vegas Viceroy and a Field Trip

After a blissfully cold shower and a quick stop at the kitchen, you headed to the team room for the DD.   
“Ocho!” Three waved you over and you picked up the plastic camping chair and placed it next to his.  
“What’s up amigo?”   
“One says you’re going to be training with me this week.”   
“What will we be training?”   
“Knives mostly, among other stuff.” How specific.   
“What kind of other stuff?” You asked suspiciously.  
“Now if I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise.”  
“Three, I hate surprises.” It was true, because all you ever had experienced were the bad kind of surprises. The whole idea of a surprise emphasized the fact that there were things in life you couldn’t control.  
“Come on now, it will be fun.”  
“Whatever you say.” You sounded skeptical at best, but you were saved by One dramatically entering the room- as per usual. He was beginning to remind you of a mix between a super smart and arrogant science teacher who knew just a little too much about physics and technology, mixed with the lacrosse coach from the show Teen Wolf. Mix all that with a stressed kindergarten teacher trying not to lose all his hyper-active, rouge children on a field trip to the museum.  
“Alright, we are about a week out from Vegas. I’ve just received confirmation on the four generals itinerary. They will arrive in 9 days. We will leave here in seven days to allow adequate time for set up and snooping.” One flashed a picture of a massive hotel up on the front screen. “They will be in the grand suite of the Viceroy Hotel.” With the push of a button, One pulled up a series of photos of the four generals. “The little fat one is the handler of Rovach’s baby brother, so no holding back back the others. And,” One paused and turned his head in thought, “we really only need the little fat one alive long enough to talk. They have scheduled some high-end call girls for after the deal is made. Room service will strike hard and fast. Two, Three,” One looked between the Ex CIA agent and the hit man. “You will be the first ones to crash the party. Five and I will follow. Extract the location, then finish them up.” Five, Two, and Three all nodded in confirmation. “Now, I’ve been over this before, but Las Vegas has more facial recognition software than any place on earth.”  
“Oh,” Three tapped his hand on the table with the excitement of kid called on in class with the right answer to the teacher’s question, “I know what I’m going to be.”   
“Chose your disguises wisely.” One gave Three an annoyed glare, clearly not liking being interrupted.  
“I’m a grown man,” Three became defensive, “I can handle my own shit.”  
“I don’t think that’s how the expression goes.” A collective sigh emanated from the rest of the ghosts as One showed off how much of a smart-ass he was. “Don’t handle your shit, flush it down the toilet like a grown-ass man. Be subtle. Blend in. Disappear.”   
Alright, you took a mental note, don’t sass One back or you would be in the meeting forever listening to his snarky commentary.  
“Four, Seven, and Eight.” You sat up straighter in your chair as One called your number. “Your mission is to track the chemical weapon’s dealer. Don’t kill them, just find out what they are selling, who their source is, and when the day for delivery is set to Turgistan.” You nodded your head once in understanding. “I believe this is the guy, but we won’t know for certain until we watch the deal go down.” One flashed another picture up on the monitor of a tall, middle aged man with high cheek bones, dark skin, and think curly hair on his head and chin. “Viktor Sousa. Age 37. Inherited his father’s rubber processing factory on the boarder of Brazil and Peru. Since then he has seen a large increase of zeros to the figures in his bank account in the past couple years that correlates with the gas bombings of refugees in Turgistan. He has also recently made several trips to the Middle East and Russia. Rumor has it that he has been either working with the United States to develop chemical weapons or has a mole. The paper trail ends there but we can easily guess the rest.” One handed Seven a file folder. “Seven, try to figure out who Viktor is working with in Brazil. His processing plant is probably in one of the more remote states.” Seven took the folder and nodded once.  
“I suspect President Bolsonaro or someone on his staff has no problem looking the other way as long as his pockets are full.” Seven opened the folder and flipped through the papers.   
“Seven, show Eight the computer system when you’re doing your research.” Seven gave you a small smile. “And get her a laptop while you’re at it.”   
“Will do.”  
One turned his attention on the sulking blonde in the corner you had been successfully avoiding for a full week now.  
“Four, once Seven has intel on Viktor, start working on a plan to install some bugs in his hotel room and on his body guards.”  
“Right.” Four said, leaning against the closet in the back of the room that was usually the angelic looking man’s perch. Wait, angelic? You shivered at your internal dialogue and reminded yourself of all the rude things the man had said to you.   
“Also, start taking Eight out with you when you practice. Get her used to skywalking and set her up with her own set of gear.” A cold glare prickled the back of your neck and you looked over your shoulder to see Four’s stone cold emerald eyes glaring bullet holes into your skull.  
“Tomorrow, 1 pm. The back pool. Be there.”   
“Is there anything I should prepare?” You asked to the man behind you.  
“No.” He curtly said. “No climbing shoes, no gear. Nothing.” And with that, Four stalked out of the room. You caught an “Unbelievable” as he passed by your chair. Anger boiled in your gut, but you choked the acidic taste down. It was going to be hard to stay civil around him if he kept talking down to you.   
“Eight,” your thoughts turned back to your boss as he gave you your next task. “Start working on a way to get Viktor and his bodyguards to abandon their hotel room quickly. I want to try to get in to the room and take photos of any documents or copy and hard drives that might have more information about other clients Viktor might have. Get me the outlines of your plans in two days.”   
“Will do,” you finished writing down your notes on a pad of paper.  
“Now, Five, Two, and Eight are going in to town. If there is anything anyone needs make a list.” One picked up his tablet from the table, “That’s it for today,” he announced, before he turned and walked out the door.  
“Whatcha getting in town?” Three asked you.   
“Stuff for my trailer.” You shrugged. You didn’t plan on getting much, but a set of sheets and a rug were two things you were in desperate need of. You hated the feeling of feet on a cold floor in the morning.   
“Oh, you’ll be living like a princess.” Three said. “Get me some hot sauce while you’re in town.” You laughed lightly. “And some triple A batteries.”  
“Ok”  
“And a tennis racket and a sweat band and and ugly ass sweat suit.”  
“Ok, slow down, amigo. I need to start writing all this down.” You turned to a new page in your notebook and started a list in your thin, precise, spiraling hand writing.   
“Wow, she even writes like a princess.” Three said, looking over your shoulder.   
“I’m not a princess.” You rolled your eyes.   
“Whatever you say, Princess.” Crap. This was not the nick-name you had been hoping for.   
“Three,” Two walked over in her tall boots that only accent her long legs. She gave him a warning glare. Then she turned to face you, “We’re leaving in 10 minutes,” and with a pivot on the spikiest heel you had ever seen she vanished out the door and into the desert.  
“Eight,” Seven came over to you and handed you a list of his own. “Here’s the grocery list. Feel free to add whatever you want.” You happily added Seven’s list to the pile of papers in your hands before heading out the door and meeting Five at the Jeep.   
“Shot gun!” Five called before jumping in the front passenger side. You looked briefly at the driver’s seat before Five caught your eye. “You don’t want to do that. This is Two’s car. She only lets Seven drive it and sometimes Three if she is feeling generous.”   
“I see.” You said as you pulled yourself into the back seat. Looking over the grocery list you added a few items, mostly fruit and your favorite light roast coffee, to the bottom of Seven’s heavy hand. “Anything you want from the grocery store, Five?” you asked over the center consul.   
“Are raspberries on the list?”   
“They are now,” you smiled and added the item. The driver’s door opens and Two hopped in, long blond hair flying all over the head rest.  
“Ready?” She asked you and Five.  
“Let’s go!” Five smiled at her friend, and you were off.   
Two had no respect for any sort of speed limit on the dirt road from base until you hit a major highway. The bumping and jumping of the manic Jeep had you thankful this model had its doors still attached and seat belts installed in the back seat. Despite your initial fear, with the windows down and the hot wind wiping your hair in every random direction, you began to enjoy yourself. This must have been how Two let off steam. Five giggled delightful screams as a large hump in the road sent the jeep into the air. It was the best roller coaster ride you had ever been on. Turning from county road 5 onto the actual highway, Two slowed down to a respectable 55 mph and turned on the radio.   
“So how are you going to decorate your trailer?” Two asked over the wind.  
“Just the simple things, sheets, desk, maybe another chair.”  
“No, no.” Two looked at you through the rear-view mirror. “You need something fun.”  
“Oooh, yeah. Like a plant or something.” Five jumped in to the conversation.  
“I don’t know about that. I tend to kill every plant I’ve ever tried to grow.” Your thoughts turned to the graveyard of succulents and cacti you had attempted to keep on your windowsill in college. It had been a trendy and hipster thing to do- all the girls on your floor in the dorm had succulents, so you had given the whole ‘plant nanny’ thing a try. Needless to say, with the death of your 5th attempt, you resigned yourself to sticking with the traditional dorm decorations of posters and wall calendar with all your classes, exams and papers due dates marked with their corresponding colors. Ok, maybe the calendar was just something you did.   
“I’ll show you how to take care of them.” Five waved her hands around excitedly.  
“She’s really good at gardening,” Two explained. “You should see her spice garden. I swear Seven’s cooking has never tasted better.”  
“You grew the basil from last night’s pesto?” You asked incredulously.   
“Sure did. I’ll show you the greenhouse sometime.” Five beamed with pride.  
***  
The closest town to the base was not very big. Luckily, they had a small Target, a hardware store, and a moderately sized grocery store. Once in Target, Two and Five made a B-line for the beauty section while you grabbed a cart and found your way to the home goods section. Getting lost in all the different options you picked out a set of powder blue sheets, a pillow (you couldn’t get the smell of something dead off your current pillow), a set of string lights, a desk lamp, a generic student desk, and a matching desk chair.   
“That’s it?” Five asked, a small basket on her arm was filled to the brim with an array of shampoos, conditioners, soaps, toiletries, and cleaning supplies.   
“This is plenty. I don’t want to cost One too much money.” You looked over all the items you had picked out and considered putting the string lights back.   
“Eight,” Two glanced over your cart with a critical eye. “One wants you here. He should be prepared to make you feel comfortable. Besides, that asshole billionaire won’t miss a few dollars spent at Target. He can be rude and inconsiderate so this is how we rebel.” She held up a cool toned lilac bottle of nail polish to your face and grinned. “You were right, Five. The color matches her perfectly.”   
“In that case,” you added another pillow to the cart. The three of you spent the next couple of minutes adding a few more of what you considered to be ‘luxury’ items for your room. You also stopped in the beauty section and pick out your favorite shampoo and conditioner along with your normal skincare products. When the checkout lady read out a jaw dropping total, Five gave you a big smile and graciously handed over One’s bottomless credit card.   
The trip to the hardware store went to a similar tune as the adventure in Target. Five helped you pick out a small fern, some cacti, and a lavender bush before getting lost among the smattering of tomato plants and rosemary. Two started on the trip to the grocery store while you had to practically pick Five up and carry her out of the plant nursery over your shoulder. By the time you and Five caught up to her, Two had filled up two large shopping carts of a week’s worth of food for the ghosts. The rest of the trip passed in amicable small talk. Two complained that the fancy cheese selection was nothing compared to what they had in Nantes, France. Five, dragged you along on a mad hunt for a special kind of tea, PG tips, explaining that it is the only thing she had ever seen Four drink besides an array of alcohol and water.   
With the Jeep filled to the brim and the sun dipping into the warm, afternoon glow, you started the long drive back to base. Peering around the giant fern balanced on your lap, you asked a question that had been gnawing at you for weeks.  
“Why does Four not like me?” Two and Three exchanged a glance.   
“We don’t know.” Two replied. “He’s been distant to everyone ever since Six was killed.”   
“They were like brothers,” Five added. “He has been grieving Six’s death differently than the rest of us. I’ve encouraged him to talk to me about it. To talk to anyone, actually. But he just shrugs me off.” Five sounded sad, defeated. As Four’s doctor, you guessed she must feel responsible for not being able to help Four process his grief. Your heart went out to her, and you placed your hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.   
“I’m sorry,” was all you could offer.   
The car was silent for several minutes until Two turned the radio on. You flew back through the desert with a plume of red dust billowing out behind you like a car commercial. Arriving back at base, Seven helped unload the groceries before starting on dinner. Five and Two helped you carry your Target haul back to your trailer. Together, you wiped down the surfaces of dust and cobwebs. Two scrubbed the windows with Windex while Five started your new sheets in a load of laundry. Three stopped by to help you hang new screens on your windows to keep the bugs out, before disappearing with Two into the night.   
“Are they an item?” You asked Five as the two of you read over the instructions for how to build your new desk.   
“If they are, it’s none of our business.” She gave you a cold look.  
“I won’t tell. I think it’s sweet.” You said, twisting a screwdriver into a leg of the desk. Five smiled at you then.   
“Yeah, it is.”   
“Tell me about the craziest surgery you have ever performed.” Five laughed and handed you another piece of the desk.  
“I have many crazy surgery stories.”   
“Start with the most bloody,” you requested.   
“It was actually the one I performed on Two when she got shot.” Your eyes grew wide as Five recounted the car chase from the misadventure in Italy.   
“Wow,” was all you can manage as Five finished describing the events of that day.  
“We were not prepared in the slightest.” She looked sadly down at the fern she was arranging by a window.  
“No warm up mission?” You asked.  
“That was the ‘warm up’ mission.” Five replied bitterly. “I just hope this one goes more smoothly.” You swallowed hard. The long days of training, while hard, had been a walk in the park compared to what Five has described. You didn’t feel ready for the upcoming mission, not in the slightest. The first real hint of doubt took root in your mind, and you spent the majority of the night tossing and turning as your self criticism spiraled out of control. What if you messed things up. What if you weren’t good enough? What if, when it came down to it, you couldn’t pull the trigger? When the sun finally broke across the horizon, you were anxious to start the day with a new resolve. You would do everything in your control to prepare for Vegas. The ghosts- this team-was depending on you. A new plan had been brewing in your mind for hours about how to infiltrate Viktor’s hotel room. With a couple tweaks and some chemical calculations you would be ready to pitch your plan to One. That is, you would be ready if you survived a full day of training with Three and Four.


	5. The Training Montage No One Asked For, Part 2

Three was waiting for you in the west hanger. He had chosen a mat with a large circle in the center. Standing on the edge of the mat, you waited for instructions. Three said nothing. His warm, dark eyes stayed fixed on yours as he stepped into the circle. You swallowed down a knot in your throat, before also stepping into the circle. For a moment, nothing happened. You heard a fly buzz in the background and the whizzing of the fan took up any empty space in your thought process. Then you blinked, and that was your first mistake.  
Bam! The air whooshed out from your lungs as you found yourself face up on the mat, Three’s knee pinned your chest to the pad while his hands locked your wrists in place.   
“Too slow, Princess.” he released you as you took in sharp, short breaths and began to cough.   
“Again.” He all but lifted you to your feet and backed away to the edge of the circle. You cleared your throat, before taking a lower stance. Your eyes locked with his; y/e/c verses his piercing midnight stare. This time, you didn’t blink. You pushed the background noises out of your head, and instead watched for a sign of attack. You saw the side of Three’s smile twitch before he rushed toward you. Just in time you somersaulted out of the way. His strong arms locked around your torso as you began to turn around to face him, but he had you pinned to his chest with no option of escape. Three’s laughter filled the empty hanger.   
“Yes! That’s it.” He let go of your body and you quickly turned to face him. “Again.”  
This time, with the twitch of his smile, Three dove low for your feet. You felt your muscles react before your brain had time to think about the logical response and you let it happen, giving up control to your wild instincts. You found yourself jumping high into the air in slow motion, before you landed on Three’s shoulders and leapt off his back to the other side of the mat. In a flash, you had turned around and taken up the low, defensive position Seven drilled into your muscle memory. A wild look of pride and excitement gleamed from Three’s smile as he quickly recovered from his dive. Then, the smile twitched as he feinted left before meeting you as you dodged right. Your shoulders slammed into the pad again but this time you rolled sideways before Three could use his body weight to pin you. Still on the ground, you kicked out at his shins. Three dodged the kick easily, but a mad bark of laughter escaped.  
“Good, Princess. Fight dirty.” You leaped back to your feet, panting. “No one out there will keep it clean for you.”   
Three’s training style seemed to be based solely on experiential learning. Unlike Seven’s cool, collected, planned lessons, Three spent a full hour charging you with attacks; all of which ultimately result with you pinned down and immobile. There was not real constructive feedback, no formula given for how to stand, how to dodge, how to escape each hold. At first, the lack of instruction or control pushed you into a state of frustrated anger. In school, there was always a formula to use to solve the problem, and there was always a right answer. Not here. The only rules that seemed to apply was the ever present law of gravity.   
Finally, after hitting your head hard for the forth or fifth time that day- you couldn’t quite remember - you stopped trying to use logic. Letting the primal instincts take hold, you stared Three down across the circle. Instead of waiting for him to move, you charged him with an animalistic cry. His laughter faltered for just a second, before his stance hardened and his muscles tensed in anticipation. You aimed your body to hit his hips and he squatted low to meet your charge. At the last possible second, you sprung high into the air. But Three was ready and waiting for your surprise jump. Instead of landing a punch to his shoulder like you planned, he plucked you out of the air, holding your arm and your hip over his head. Before he could slam you down to the mat, you brought your leg up to his face and wrap it around his neck. Grabbing his opposite shoulder, you pulled yourself around onto his shoulders, and locked your feet together around his neck. With too much mass throwing his balance off, Three dropped to his knees. The force of impact sent you flying around the mats and out of the circle in an unceremonious face plant.  
Damn it. You almost had him.   
The sound of slow, drawn out clapping echoed throughout the hanger. You pushed yourself up off your face to find Three’s tattooed arm reaching down to you. You took it and let him pull you to your feet.   
“Now that,” he patted your shoulder as you chased down your escaped breath, “that was fun.” 

  
***

Everything hurt as you made your way to the kitchen. You tried to stretch your sore muscles as you put together a PB&J but the kitchen just wasn’t quite the deep tissue massage therapist you desperately needed. You would have to settle for comfort food and the look of pride Three had given you before sending you off for the day.   
“Rough morning?” Seven asked, dipping in and opening the fridge.  
“No, it was a blast.” The smile in your voice was evident, even wild. You craved another match against the rouge hit man.  
“I’ll have to come watch you and Three duke it out.” Seven pulled deli meat, tomatoes, and a bazillion other toppings out of the packed fridge and placed them on the counter. You took a seat at the bench and glanced at your watch. You had 30 minutes before you had to meet Four. The excitement from the morning’s sparring match was quickly drowned by a wave of nervous anxiety. What crazy shenanigans was Four going to have you do? Jump off a 40 foot cliff? Seven didn’t seem to register your change in attitude. “What kind of laptop do you want? I’m going to place a tech order today.” You listed off a moderately powerful laptop along with additional hard drives for extra storage. You also asked Seven to get you another license for Microsoft and a few other engineering programs you had used back when you were alive. You had been missing your organized spreadsheets recently and if One was footing the bill, then the price of the software package wouldn’t be a problem. Seven listened intently as he built a massive sandwich.   
“Sounds good. I’ll see what I can do.” He set his plate down across from you and took a massive bite of meat and bread.   
“Seven,” you asked, “where is the back pool?” The large man took giant sip of water before answering.  
“It’s not actually a pool full of water. It’s about a mile beyond the west hanger. Just an abandoned pool Four likes to ride his skateboard in. There’s also some abandoned storage warehouses, airplane hangers, and a parking garage.”  
“A mile!” You jumped to your feet, interrupting Seven’s description of the place. You had 10 minutes to book it across the base to make it there on time. Abandoning half your sandwich to the bottomless pit of Seven’s stomach, you sprinted through the base.  
You were never one for running. Yeah, you had moderately longer legs than most women, but it was because you were taller than the average 5 foot 4. Your 5 foot 7 build was perfect for climbing. You had a slight height advantage and your plus 2 ape index had given you an edge in competitions. But that was about it. You preferred to leave running up to the pros, and would rather stick with your long, endurance hike on the approach to a climbing wall over a sprint any day of the week. With lungs burning and sweat dripping down your back you puffed up to a concrete jungle of buildings, an old pool house, and an empty, dilapidated crater of a pool.   
“You’re late.” Four’s British accent called down to you from the top of a nearby building, startling you. Glancing at your watch, you frowned.  
“I have one minute left.” You called back, but he had disappeared from sight. You let out another deep breath as you tried to control you panting. “Four?” You called out. Your voice echoed off the concrete around you. You began to walk around the edge of the pool before Four dropped from the sky right in front of you, blocking your path. Oh lord, it’s raining men, was the first thought that crossed your mind before you derailed that train of thought before it could even leave the station.  
“Man, you smell bad.” Wow. What a compliment. Any previous hope of a civil interaction with Four shattered. Of course you smelled bad. You had sweated up a storm while training this morning, not to mention the sprint over here.  
“Thanks, that’s just what I wanted to hear.” Your voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. You had to reign in your attitude before it got the better of you. You got the feeling that Four would return any sass you gave him, and then some.  
“What’s the plan for today?” You asked, trying to change the subject.  
“How much experience do you have with walking on roof tops?” Four evaluated your sweaty body with a disdainful eye, and you tried to stand up straighter.  
“Not much,” you admitted. “Can you teach me?” Four let out a frustrated sigh before turning and walking into a tall, dilapidated parking garage.   
“Stop dicking around.” He called over his shoulder and you jogged to catch up. You climbed up five floors in silence, before reaching the top of the building. “Stand up there,” Four commanded, pointing to a brick wall in the center of the lot that was connected to the wall surrounding the edge of the roof. You followed his command, hoisting your already sore muscles up the five foot wall. It was a little under a foot wide, and the concrete top was hot from baking in the sun all morning. Balancing on the balls of your feet, you quickly found your center of mass and stood up. Feeling mostly secure, you looked back to find Four’s piercing emerald stare. “Alright, now walk to the end and back.” Four lounged against the other wall of the garage and watched you make quick work of the task. The first few steps were a little shaky, but you put your arms out on each side to help you balance. Back in your starting position you looked at him for further instruction. “Easy," Four commented. "Now run to the end.” So much for baby steps; you rolled your eyes. Moving faster you found that your center of mass was not where you thought it would be. You stumbled a few times and slowed down to a jog before reaching the end of the wall.   
“No, no no!” Four sounded annoyed as he shook his hands. “Run Eight. Run as if you're being chased.” You turned around and tried again to run back to your starting point without falling off. You only managed to wobble worse.  
“Eight,” Four had moved to stand on the ground next to the wall. “When you run, do you watch your feet?”  
“No?” You hesitated, hoping that you had given the right answer.  
“No. Then why are you watching your feet now?” Four gestured down to your feet. You looked down at your feet in their beat-up sneakers, before looking back up at Four. “Try again. But this time, think two steps ahead. Literally, two steps, maybe three since your brain is so big.” He gestured to the wall. Turning, you faced down the straight section of wall and began to place one foot in front of the other. At first, you used the sensation of touch to guide your feet by placing them heel to toe. But that was just awkward and inefficient and made you look like a penguin. You felt frustration filling your brain as you heard Four’s laughter at your weird walk. You shot him a death glare before picking up the pace. Focusing on a lamp post at the end of the lot, you moved your feet without thinking. Keeping your eyes fixed on a massive dent in the lamp post, you managed an almost confident jog to the end of the wall. Turning around, you picked a different lamp post and moved faster.  
“I don’t see you running for your life yet!” Four called out to you. Indignation had your feet picking up the pace and you began to actually run.

You were doing it!

You were sky walking.

From the top of the abandoned parking garage, you could see almost all of base and then beyond the scrap metal planes and out into the red sandy desert. The wind whipped your hair and you were reminded of how you felt when you climbed outside: light as a feather, every action made was one of calculated precision, spirit free form the weight of the world. You missed it.  
Then reality set in as you realized you didn’t know how to stop.   
“Four!?” Your voice sounded panicked as you tried to stop moving before the end of the wall sent you over the edge of the building.  
“Keep going, Eight.” He called, stepping back from his spot next to the wall to give you space.  
“What?!” You cried out in fear.  
“Commit to the jump!” and with that your feet carried you over the edge of the parking garage. 


	6. Is This What Flying Feels Like?

Was Four trying to kill you? You didn’t think he hated you that much to try to coach you off the edge of a building, but maybe your ability to read people had failed to notice Four’s death wish for you. About four feet from the edge of the wall, you had caught a glimpse of another roof. Unfortunately, by putting on the breaks and trying to avoid the jump, you had reduced your velocity enough so that you were not going to make the 10 foot gap between the two buildings.  
Yet here you were, hurtling through the air with nothing but cotton candy clouds above you and a pillow of crumbling concrete below. The world slowed to a stop-motion speed as you watched the brick edge of the next building over get closer and closer, but not quite fast enough. Finally, you felt like if you reached all the way out and suddenly became Spiderman, you might actually have a chance at grabbing the edge. A curse escaped your lips as you grasped desperately for the uneven brick edge of the roof of the building below. Your hands found purchase on the hot bricks and you thanked all the years of training your contact strength from climbing as you locked on to the wall. The muscles in your shoulders engaged and you brought your feet up to press flat against the wall, using the friction to take some weight off your shoulders. Taking deep breaths, you swallowed down a sob.   
Holy crap.   
Holy freaking crap.  
You almost died.  
Looking down, you caught the glimpse of an empty alleyway with graffiti coloring the walls and a cracked pillow of concrete ready to catch your fall and break all the bones in your body. You heard a racing drum and you looked around until you realized the runaway beat was actually your heart. The more you looked, the more dizzy you became until you closed your eyes and pressed your forehand against the brick wall. The wall was like an ice cube from being in the shadow of the adjacent parking garage and it helped cool your boiling blood and fear. A crunch of gravel sounded from above you as Four landed gracefully on the building. Walking over to the edge, he placed one foot on the wall next to your hand.   
“Damn, Darling.” He looked down on you and you saw a hint of a smile. “I didn’t think you would actually jump.”  
“What the hell, Four!” You fumed as you began pulling yourself over the edge of the building. Your movements were awkward, kind of like a beached whale, as you swung one leg over, before rotating your hips and falling smack on your bum. “I almost died.”  
“Almost,” he corrected. “But still, that was stupid. You need to learn how to stop.” You answered his correction with a frown of pure malice. Picking yourself up off the ground -Four didn’t offer you a hand- you dusted yourself off only to find a massive gash on your knee. You must have hit it when you caught the side of the wall. Your forearms were also scratched up and bleeding.   
“Let’s go.” You looked up to find Four moving at a gentle run across the roof top.  
“Hang on a sec,” you dabbed at your bleeding forearms but they continued to drip blood. Giving up on damage control, you sighed. It seemed like Four operated on a different wavelength than the rest of the world. You flipped your head over and gathered your hair up into a high pony tail before chasing after the insane man. Before long, you caught up. It took a couple seconds but you soon forgot to even watch your feet at all, instead thinking literally two step ahead and picking where your feet would land with your eyes seconds before setting foot on the chosen spot. Four led you on a wild decent across a series of roof tops, down a fire escape, and across a 4 inch ledge around the side of a building, before landing safely back next to the pool house. You followed his every move, always two steps behind. The motions were jerky at first. It was weird to not always have your weight on your tip toes like you did in climbing, but you quickly figured out that landing on the balls of your feet gave you more control of you body and helped you keep up the pace Four set.   
Breathless and exhausted, you dropped down next to him, landing in a somersault and rolling a couple feet away from Four’s more controlled landing. Picking yourself up, you planned to say the manifesto of curses, insults, and a slew of other choice words to describe your fright from your first run. But the words never passed your lips. Four stood before you, looking up to the sky with a genuine smile, one that actually reached his eyes. The shadow that had sat heavily over him since the day you met him had lifted just slightly. Then, he seemed to return to reality. Brushing his wind-swept hair out of his face, he let the shadow return. Turning to look back at you he said,  
“You suck at running. For the rest of the day, you’re gonna run laps.” Oh yeah. That’s right. He’s still an ass.   
“What’s your problem with me?” You blurted out. Typically, you were a patient person, always in control of your emotions. But not right now. This arrogant, rude, prick had managed to break down your little remaining composure. “You barely speak to me, and when you do it’s only to criticize me. Why do you judge me to such a high standard when you don’t even know what I’m capable of? Who do you want me to be?” Four had turned ice cold again. Shoulders hunched, he didn’t break eye contact with you as he backed you against a wall and placed his muscled forearms on wall beside you; creating a cage.  
“How old are you, Eight?” You tried to answer but he cut you off. “Because from where I’m standing, you look like you have your whole life a head of you. Your skills don’t match with the rest of the team. You will only hold us back on the missions. We can’t always babysit you or keep you safe. It will get us killed.”  
“How can you be so sure?” You felt a tear sting your face.  
“Just stay out the way in Las Vegas. Don’t be a burden.”  
“We are supposed to be partners for this mission, Four. You aren’t supposed to go it alone. That’s not how it works.”  
“That’s how this one will work.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m spending my time here trying to teach how to not die. If you get distracted from that task even for a second, then I can’t promise you will make it back.” Little did Four know that the best way to make you do something, was to tell you that you couldn’t do it. The trick had worked surprisingly well with some of the sexist old professors in the engineering department. Once, while working on your Calculus 3 semester project, the boys in your group wouldn’t let you do the coding portion, instead leaving you to do the write up and ‘soft components’. You had quit the group and did the entire term project on your own just days before it was due. Needless to say, you wrecked the curve and let your top score do the rest of the talking. While planning a ‘Coup et a’ wasn’t quite the same thing as an engineering calc 3 math class, the moral of the story stilled applied.  
“Maybe you should worry about yourself before you spare me any concern. Especially if this is such a burden for you. I’ll play my part in this just like you will. Just give me a chance.” With that, you ducked out from Four’s arms and made your way back into the open. “Where are we running?” Four glowered, before walking back into the parking garage. Wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you followed him. He had you start by running up the ever slightly inclined garage, all the way to the top and back, over and over again. After he was satisfied with that form of torture, he had you run the stairs until your legs collapsed under your weight like jello. Despite the stewing hate in your gut, you didn’t complain. In fact, you completely ignored him just as much as he seemed to want to be ignoring you. As the sun reached the western horizon, you heard the voice of an angel calling through the concrete jungle.  
“Four, Eight. Dinner.” As you jogged in a blurry haze around the final set of stairs you saw Five standing at the entrance to the garage with her hands on her hips. “Four, where’s Eight?” She asked the bored looking blonde who was casually doing pistol squats while balanced on a large yellow concrete cylinder that was used for controlling the flow of traffic.   
“Dunno,” Four leaped from his perch to stand next to Five. “I told her to run stairs an hour ago.”   
Five glanced towards the stairwell just as you staggered into view.  
“Oh my god!” She rushed over to you, taking in the image of dried blood and sweat. You were a dehydrated mess.  
“It’s alright, I’m fine.” You tried to brush Five off, not wanting to show weakness in front of Four. If he didn’t think you could handle yourself, then you would have to prove him wrong. The slow walk back to base had Five chewing Four out for getting you beat up so bad, Four explaining how he ‘did no such thing’ before receding into his moody, broody self, and you trying to wipe off the mess of dried blood and pretend that everything in life was just peachy.   
You broke away from the group as soon as you could to hit the showers. You really did smell bad. Rolling your eyes at Four’s words, you washed away the day. A murky, rusty puddle surrounded your bare feet. Thoughts ping-ponged around your mind, wondering if you should skip dinner just to avoid being in the same room as Four. But that would only prove his point that you didn’t belong here. No, you would go to dinner. You would claim your spot on the bench and offer to help with the dishes as you had done every night since arriving at the base. You would make Four look at you, but actually see you as an equal. And, your stomach growled in agreement; how could you say ‘no’ to Seven’s cooking?  
You could tell Three had contributed to the evening meal by the level of spiciness that set fire to your mouth. The prickling flames turned your cheeks red and made you start sweating. Damn it, Three, you had just showered. Despite not being able to feel your tongue dinner wasn’t as bad as you had expected. Five and Three led the whole room in a heated debate about which Hogwarts house everyone was in. At the first sign of camaraderie, One picked up his plate and left, muttering something along the lines of “damn Millennials,” before retreating away from the rowdy room.  
“He’s a Slytherin, I’m telling you,” Five announced before taking a sip of wine.  
“Cunning to a fault.” Three agreed.  
“Come on guys,” Seven piped in, “not all Slytherins are evil.” Three and Five exchange a knowing look between themselves before saying in unison.  
“Hufflepuff.”   
Seven rolled his eyes before standing up from the bench to get seconds.  
“Where do you think I learned how to cook?” He joked with the slightly tipsy pair. Five and Three cheered at the thought of Seven cooking in the Hogwarts kitchen, before turning their attention on a pouting Two.   
“Don’t you even think about it. I’m beyond these,” she pointed a finger at Three, gesturing to all of him, “games.” Three gave her a look like she just kicked a puppy.  
“Two,” he hung on her name, “how could you?” he asked with mock incredulity. “These are important aspects to any one person’s identity.”  
They were interrupted by Seven offering to take Two’s plate.  
“I’ll do it,” you jumped on the opportunity to leave before they have the chance to pick apart what little they knew about you and put you into a box wrapped in your house colors. It wasn’t that you didn’t like guessing people’s Hogwarts house. Harry Potter had been the entirety of your childhood. It was just that you didn’t like being put under a microscope. While you had started to bond with the ghosts, you were weary to let them in so soon. You were having trouble finding that middle ground of wanting to be accepted by them, but not trusting them enough to let them in. Time. You just wanted more time.  
Taking the plate Two passed you along with your own, you set about to cleaning up. The corner that Four normally brooded in was empty. You guessed he had already eaten and wanted no part of the team’s antics. As the night wore on, each member trickled out one by one, until it was just you and Seven.   
“Wait a second.” Seven said as you began putting away the left overs. “I normally save a plate for Four, he hasn’t been joining us for dinner recently.”   
“Oh,” you handed over the serving spoon to Seven and let him dish up the remaining food onto a giant plate before covering it with tin foil and placing it in the oven. “Why does he keep skipping dinner?”   
“Not sure,” Seven sighed. “Three thinks he works too hard, Five thinks he’s depressed, Two thinks he’s reverted back to a teenager.”  
“What do you think?” You started washing the now empty pots and pans.  
“I don’t know Four like the others do.” Seven started drying the dishes and putting them away. “But this seems to be a recent thing. A couple weeks ago, he was more out spoken. He would even crack jokes. Then One said he had found an Eight. I heard One and Four arguing late into the night about how One needed to do a better job so that what happened to Six didn’t happen to anyone else and that One shouldn’t put anyone else in danger.”  
“But we all chose to be here for our own reasons.”   
“I know that. I just think Four cares deeply about the people around him. He just isn’t sure of the best way to express that. So he is doubling down; protecting himself and others in the only way he knows how.”  
“So being an arrogant prick to my face is his form of protecting the team?” You wanted to believe that the version of Four everyone else had met existed below the cold exterior, but it was very hard to do so given Four’s track record with you.  
“Come on now, Eight.” The motherly affection in Seven’s tone was palpable. “Everyone here has an ego. You can’t fly a plane, be a sniper, or cut someone open to perform surgery if you don’t believe you can successfully bring the plane back down to earth safely, make the perfect shot, or stitch the person back up enough so that they will live. No one would feel comfortable possessing that much control or power over the outcome of a situation without being arrogant.” Seven made a good point but you were still conflicted. “You don’t design water treatment systems and provide clean water to millions of people in a city unless you are arrogant and confident enough that your design will work. You don’t risk your life to climb a cliff unless you are arrogant enough to believe that the gear you place will save you every time you fall. You are just as arrogant as the rest of us,” Seven dried off the last fork with the dishtowel.   
“But at what point does it become ok to use arrogance to justify being rude to someone.” You still weren’t quite getting your head around the point Seven was trying to make.  
“None of us are saints, Eight.” Seven leaned on the counter and looked at you. “We have killed people, been shot at, lost someone who meant the world to us. We are broken, and sometimes the arrogance that lets us perform incredible feats of running vertically down a wall without falling to our death seeps through the cracks. From what I’ve learned about you in the past couple of weeks I’ve know you, I would say that you have always been a perfectionist. You don’t just practice something until you get it right; you practice it until you can’t get it wrong. You don’t settle for anything less than the best. Maybe you put those pressures on yourself or maybe someone else planted those expectations deep in your brain.” You crossed your arms over your chest, defensively.  
“What’s wrong with that?” Seven was digging up memories of your parents that you had thought you left behind at your grave in Colorado. Memories you had hoped would stay buried beside your empty casket.  
“You aren’t able to grow with that rigid mindset, and you might be projecting that on others. You don’t trust us since we aren’t ‘perfect’” Seven explained. “You don’t have room to let people in who are less than whole.” You chewed on your lip, not liking the criticism, but also trying to open your mind up to the possibility that things didn’t have to be perfect. “But you’re also right that Four is behaving weird. Give him some time to get to know you, but also put in the effort to get to know him. He will come around and see how much of a badass you are.” You smiled at that. You were grateful for the perspective Seven brought to your chaotic and spiraling thoughts. You turned and leaned back against the counter, placing your hands behind you to support your weight and watched the ghosts go through the motions of their night routines through the large kitchen window.  
Seven bid you goodnight, and left you in the empty kitchen to muddle through your racing mind. Perhaps instead of asking Four why he seemed to hate you, you should find a different tactic. Your thoughts returned to his smile after your spin across the roof tops. Maybe getting to know him in his happiest state was the solution. After realizing you were going to be up most of the night pondering Seven’s wise words, you made your self a cup of tea, and began the trek across the desert to your trailer to write in your journal. 


	7. Never Skip the Warm Up

Four sat perched on the roof of the kitchen, leaning back on his hands to gaze up at the stars. The sky was so clear here- unlike the foggy air of his home in London. Sometimes he missed his old life. Or, he corrected, the life he had had before becoming a thief. He missed his mother’s garden in the back of the house. He missed walking along the tall brick wall that separated their small yard from the neighbor’s and the alley. He missed Tom, the stray black cat who his little sister had adored. Sometimes, it was the simple things in life. He let out a sigh and heard his stomach growl. Dinner smelled divine, maybe even worth being smothered by the worried doctor. Ever since Six had died, the atmosphere around the dinner table had changed. There was an emptiness to the place that haunted Four. Despite this new family of his cracking jokes, telling stories, and bonding over a shared meal, the place hadn’t seemed like home. It wasn’t complete without his friend. Six had almost been the brother Four had never had. Even thinking about it pulled strings in Four’s chest that shot pain throughout his body. He wasn’t ready to move on. Not yet.   
The sound of the screen door scraping open and a disgruntled One exiting made Four hopeful that the ghosts would be wrapping up soon so that he could dip in a see what was left over. Then the idea came to him. Popping up from the roof, he took two steps before dropping like a wraith next to the unsuspecting billionaire.  
“Mother Fucker!” One cursed, “Fucking Millennials! Can’t you just walk up to me like a normal person?” One brandished his fork in Four’s face before returning it to the bowl of food he was carrying to his trailer.  
“Uh, yeah.” Four vowed to never approach One like a normal human being. This reaction was just too fun. “One, can we talk about Eight?”   
“Sure. What about her? How was her first day sky walking. She wouldn’t talk about it at dinner.”  
“She’s a disaster. Completely un-coachable.” Four needed One to get rid of her before she blew the entire operation.  
“Huh,” One frowned. “I’m surprised she didn’t take to sky walking faster. She’s got the background for it. And Seven and Three have been giving me excellent reports for her other training.”  
“No, on the edge of the roof she freezes up. It’s a total mood killer and stops her from making the jump. She just can’t do it safely.”  
“I think she just needs more practice.” One shrugged off Four’s concern and started walking across the desert. Four’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Why was One defending her?   
“One, she’s a liability. We don’t need anyone else dying. She isn’t equipped to do this work. Put her under pressure and she will break We will all die for real this time.”  
“Now that’s a little extreme.” One took a bite of food, then spoke around his full mouth. “Besides, she showed me her prototype for the Vegas mission and it’s impressive.” Four’s blood began to boil.   
“She can’t come to Vegas! She hasn’t even had a warm up mission. Do you really want a repeat of Italy? It was such a cluster fuck.”  
“You know what, Four?” One turned and looked at the blonde. “That’s a great idea. You should do a run-though of the mission - just so that she can practice placing the equipment. We have the climbing gear, right?” Fuck. This was not where Four wanted this to go.  
“No!” He shouted, causing the billionaire to jump slightly and drop his fork into the dirt. “You aren’t listening to me. Eight is a disaster. She can barely keep up a jog when doing parkour. She can’t hold her own in a fight. Hell, she probably won’t be able to pull the trigger. When the time comes, she won’t have it in her to kill someone, and you shouldn’t be asking her to.” The look on One’s face shifted from tired to angry. He seemed to grow taller in the dark as he straightened his spine.  
“Four,” One’s voice was calm, almost a whispered threat, “we all have our own motivations for being here. I have known Eight longer than the idea of the ghosts has been in my head.” Well fuck. That fact surprised Four. He felt his jaw slacken and his eyebrows raise in surprise. One continued in a menacing voice. “She planted the idea of the ghosts in my brain and there it grew into what it is today. Eight may be young. She may have no experience fighting. But she has the academic and problem solving skills that can only come from never being satisfied with one’s situation no matter how much effort is put in. She isn’t just a brain, and she isn’t just a climber. Everyone here is an expert. Including you. So stop being an expert in being an asshole and start doing your job of working with your new partner. She might just surprise you.” One poked his index finger into Four’s chest and the thief felt himself deflate. Clearly, he had underestimated One’s relationship with the brainiac, err ‘engineer’, he corrected himself.  
Four remained silent as One picked up the now sandy utensil, cursed, and made his way to the largest and most central of the trailers. The thoughts swirled around his head, causing a pulsing ache to begin in his temple. Frowning, he turned and made his way back on to the kitchen roof top to puzzle over his boss’s words. He brewed and stewed in silence until he was a pot of confusion and frustration as the rest of the ghosts finished their meals and retired for the night. If he couldn’t get One to kick Eight out, then he needed to be prepared for the worst when they finally got to Vegas. He would have to anticipate executing the plan made for two people as if it was just him. Besides, he worked best alone. Four shivered in the warm night air as he remembered his crazy ex-girlfriend and his final mission alive. Teamwork was over rated, Four concluded, and ultimately ended up getting someone killed. Four changed his train of thought before it could take him down that dark path of his past and instead listened to the last voices in the kitchen. It was his name, or rather, his number that caught his attention. Eight was talking about him with Seven.   
He grimaced and braced for the worst, but it never came. Gossip didn’t bother him - he just thought it was an immature pursuit- but he was looking for something, anything, to get Eight to leave. Four listened intently to the late night conversation and considered the points Seven made to be valid. He shouldn’t let perfection become the enemy he was trying to paint Eight to be. But that was easier said than done, and it was easier to dislike Eight than to make space for her in his life. However, disobeying One was not easy. He would actually need to put together some warm up mission for Eight. Maybe he could be a good mentor after all? That thought surprised him and he shoved it down. He was nothing more than a thief looking for redemption so that, maybe one day, he could return to his mother and take care of the one woman who had never given up on him no matter how many wallets he stole or how many times he needed to be bailed out of jail. Eight deserved so much more than a life of thieving, being shot at, killing, and violence. He hoped that one day, she would find happiness, even if he was doomed to a life in the shadows. 

***

The week passed in a blur. You sparred with Three in the morning, then choked down a hurried lunch before facing a volatile Four. Sometimes, he almost seemed happy to see you. On those days, you chased him across the roof tops. He stuck to the easier routes, but you were beginning to trust your body more and your brain less as you took ever growing leaps off the edge of buildings. Once, you even had the guts to challenge Four to a pull-up contest.   
“Oh Darling, you’re on.” He said as his eyes came alive with the mention of competition. On the good days, his green eyes were warm, with specs of hazel and gold around the pupil, turning the iris into a sunflower. He beat you at the pull-up contest, but not by much. You had chosen the hand holds, and, slightly unfairly, has decided that the tiny climbing holds called crimps would be your battle ground. With the advantage of having smaller fingers than the skywalker, you were able to employ the grip strength from your forearms as well as your shoulders.   
“Be ready, Four.” You smiled mischievously, “give me three weeks. I’ll kick your ass.”  
“You’re on.” Four snorted out a laugh and inwardly you beamed with the small victory.  
On the bad days, Four was a menace. Instead of running free across the roof tops, he had you practicing cardio drills. Pistol squats on the brick wall at the top of the ‘car park’, as he called the main building, running up and down the stairs three at a time, and the dreaded, slow slog up the slope of the car park. One time, he had you stand on the wall while he tried to knock you off. You had only just been able to last more than 30 seconds against Three on flat ground; being expected to dodge and throw a punch 5 stories off the ground was beyond your capabilities and unfair. Since there were no pads to land on, it only took you a couple tumbles before you figured out the best way to fall off a wall. Despite trying to channel the reflexes of a cat, you still ended up on the ground with Four standing over you.   
“Come on, Eight. There is no room for falling when you are thousands of feet off the ground.” He never offered a hand up; just leapt back onto the wall and waited for you to join him for another round of ‘get beaten to a pulp five stories up’. It was something out of a cartoon ninja movie, but you didn’t have the benefit of a stunt person or CGI.   
On the day before you were supposed to leave for Vegas, you opened your trailer door to find a sticky note written in large, bold sharpie.   
“Climbing shoes   
~ 4”  
You felt your heart fluttering with excitement at the thought of going climbing outside. Even if it was with a luke-warm Four as your partner. Thus, you showed up to the back pool 15 minutes early with your climbing shoes in tow, practically bouncing up and down with excitement.   
“Here,” he handed you a blue, Petzl brand climbing harness. “Does this one fit you?” You wiggled the harness on with no problem and tightened the strap around your waist. Looking around, you saw he had laid out a full rack of cams, bolts, and quickdraws. He also has some gear that you have never seen before.  
“What’s this for?” you asked, carefully stepping around the spread to point to a weirdly shaped piece of protection.   
“That, Darling, will fit easily into an I-beam.” You looked at the massive contraption in amazement.   
“You have an Urban set of gear?” It was so innovative. No company that you knew of made gear for free climbing on buildings (granted climbing on buildings for recreational purposes was illegal in most places anyways). You were impressed by his resourcefulness.   
“What’s the look of surprise for?”  
“I just thought you were the type of person who never used gear when climbing.”  
“Well, honestly, I prefer to solo it.” Four admitted, beginning to uncoil an 80 meter rope. Why were you not surprised? “This is just here since One sometimes wants to join, and he isn’t willing to jump off a building.”  
“Did you make all these?” you gestured to the collection of weird contraptions.  
“Yeah, I did.” Four sounded proud. He should be proud. So much time, engineering, and safety testing went in to developing climbing gear. While you doubted Four’s inventions would pass enough safety tests to immediately be ready for mass production, you were fascinated by how each piece seemed to have a purpose. Maybe some time he would let you inspect each piece as you tried to figure out the mechanisms- you loved learning how things worked.  
“So what are we doing today?” You asked, refocusing yourself on the present and trying to put together what Four had going on in his mind.   
“One has confirmed the room that Viktor bloke will be in at the hotel. It’s not a Viceroy hotel but a different luxury name. Our mission, as of right now, is to place audio and video monitoring in the room and try to figure out where this wanker gets his weapons from and possibly retrieve a hard drive if the guy stupidly leaves it unattended.”  
“And this process requires urban climbing gear because?” Four tied a quick double figure eight knot to one end of the rope and attached a locking carabiner to the looped end.  
“We have reserved a room two floors directly above Viktor’s. While the guy is out enjoying the wonders of Las Vegas, we will be placing monitoring equipment. Part of that process requires repelling down from our room to his.” Four approached you with the carabiner. He never broke eye contact as he clipped you into the rope. You checked his iris to gauge the mood of the skywalker: sunflowers.  
“I know how to tie in by myself.” your tone was half annoyance and half playfulness.  
“I know.” He replied, before turning and picking up his grigri and the coil of rope and began walking into the garage. You jogged to catch up before Four could start dragging you with the rope. “We can do this two ways.” He explained as you start climbing the stairs. “You can belay me and I’ll place the camera, or I can belay you.” Four turned out of the stairwell on the fourth floor and led you over to the high wall that was meant to keep cars from driving off the edge.   
“Where are the anchors?” You asked, looking around for the familiar bolts in the wall.   
“Over here,” Four identified two circular metal loops sticking out from the concrete wall. “And the safety is over here,” Four pointed out a loop of webbing wrapped around a structural beam. Even if the initial bolts failed, there was still back up. Good.  
“I’ll climb first.” You said, stepping closer to the edge before you plopped down on the ground and switched out your sneakers and socks for the heavenly leather and rubber slippers that were your climbing shoes.   
“I thought you’d say that,” Four grabbed the end of the rope that was attached to your harness and slipped it in to the grigri before clipping the grigri to the belay loop on his harness, spinning the safety on the locking carabiner. He then clipped two quickdraws (two carabiners connected with six inches of webbing) to the two anchor bolts. Finally, he clipped his static line, a short amount of rope that was permanently attached to his harness to the backup anchor. You both went through the motions of the typical climbing safety check before he handed you a dark backpack.   
“The plans for the mission could change at any time. Once we’re actually in Las Vegas we will know more and can plan accordingly. For now treat this as a hypothetical scenario. We will attach the mounts for the cameras to the building before Viktor even arrives. All you have to do is place the camera and make sure it is broadcasting.”   
“Got it,” you said, taking the backpack and checked for the camera before sliding it onto your shoulders and clipping the straps together over your chest. Feeling the blood flow to your palms increase at the thought of climbing, you grasped the rough edge of the wall before pulling yourself over the side. “On belay?” you locked eyes with Four.   
“Belay on,” he responded. That was all the invitation you needed before you leapt over the wall. The rope caught you almost immediately, and you turned to face the wall, placing your feet on the side of the building.   
“Lower,” you called up to Four. He responded by feeding you rope and you walked your feet down the wall until the gap of the floor below gave you nothing to push on. For a couple seconds you dangled in thin air before finding your footing again against the wall. “Stop.” You called up. Four obliged and the rope creaked under the strain in a familiar groan. You swung around for a couple seconds, searching out the fixed camera mount, before the wired technology caught your eye. It was about five feet below you and six feet over. “Lower,” you called out again and this time you used your feet to guide your body over to the fixture. “Stop” you unclipped the backpack and dug out the camera and a screwdriver. It took you a couple tries to figure out how the camera fit into the mount and you almost dropped the screwdriver, but nimbly caught it at the last second. Finally, the camera was secure. You pushed the switch to the ‘on’ position and saw a small red light illuminate on the back. Smiling, you maneuvered yourself back under the direction of the rope. Searching for grooves in the uneven bricks, you identified a series of small hand holds and foot holds before calling up to Four, “Climbing.” The muscles in your shoulders came to life and your fingers clamped down on the tiny edges. You were glad you had your most aggressive pair of climbing shoes on as they had a defined edge at the tip of your toe which allowed you to place your weight on the tiniest sliver of brick. In no time, you had scaled the two stories and sat contently on the edge of the fourth floor.  
“Not bad.” Four said as you swung your legs back over the side and jumped the remaining three feet back to the ground.  
“Thanks,” you beamed at the compliment, or what was for Four, a compliment.   
“I’ll retrieve the camera, then we’ll go over the rest of the plan for Vegas.” Four said, passing you the grigri as you unclipped the locking carabiner and began switching out of your climbing shoes for your sneakers. Four made quick work of the task, and was soon back on the ledge of the parking garage with you. You went over the plan multiple times the rest of the afternoon. Four explained countless ways things could go wrong and reviewed all the ways to bail off a building. Most of the tactics were the same as bailing on a thousand foot climbing wall but you paid attention anyways. You and Four went through the gear one final time before packing it all into giant haul bags that you carried back to the main base. A giant pile of luggage was forming outside the team room as everyone slowly prepared for the mission. Following Four’s lead, you dropped the gear bags on the pile. As you turned to start packing your own bag Four reached out and grabbed your arm.  
“One second, Darling.” he said, before dropping his hold on you. “I need to give you some things for tomorrow.”   
The sun sat low in the sky as you followed Four into the armory. You hadn’t been in the room since your tour of the place on your first night. The armory was filled with an array of guns, knives, explosives, and a myriad of other dangerous items. Cases lined the walls with different labels identifying the locations of different types of bullets, night-vision goggles, bullet-proof vests, and ‘samurai swords’? Which one of the ghost’s weapon of choice was a historical set of swords? Four led you to an empty table in the middle of the room before collecting a cardboard box with the number ‘8’ written in sharpie on the side.   
“These are for you.” He set the box on the table and pulled out a small hand gun, a larger pistol, and a series of dangerous looking knives, laying them on the table before you. The pistol and knives looked similar to the weapons Seven and Three had been training you with. The smaller gun was unfamiliar. “Try not to shoot me on accident.” Four quipped as he turned to leave the room. You rolled your eyes.  
“With that attitude of yours I make no promises.” You meant it as a joke, but you really did hope that the mission would require minimum shooting. Still, if you accidentally did shoot Four, would it really be a loss? 


	8. Vegas, Baby!

The plan was going exactly how Four had predicted: horribly wrong. Which bothered you because that blame of a ‘horribly wrong’ plan was probably going to be placed on your shoulders by the skywalker- an excuse to get you kicked off the team. Just as all horribly wrong plans begin, it had started off without a hitch.   
“Room number 3008, 30th floor.” One’s calm and collected voice sounded from the earpiece you wore, hidden by the wig and frilly headpiece that was part of the cleaning staff’s uniform. The elevator ‘dinged’ as the doors slid open. You pushed the cleaning cart down the hall of repeated floral carpet patterns and gaudy wall paper. As you approached the end of the hall, you took note of the air circulation system. According the building plans, there were 10 large suits on this floor. The main air system split off the main line, rooms 3001 and 3003 shared a line, just as 3002 and 3004 did. You made a mental note to find the line for rooms 3008 and 3010 on your way out.  
Swiping the employee card you had ‘borrowed’ from a Maria Jefferson over the door handle you heard the locking mechanism click out of place. The suite was beyond lavish. A deep blue carpet engulfed an open space with royal red velvet couches and arm chairs. There was a generous mini bar arranged on a glass topped table with gold hardware. The drapes to the full length windows had golden tassels to match the regal theme. Attached to the main room was the bedroom and jacuzzi bathroom. A four-poster bed with a luxurious duvet took up most of the bedroom with matching furniture of deep wood, a formal desk with a high backed chair, and a narrow balcony with metal bars looked out over the vast city of Las Vegas. The entire place screamed wealth and power.   
Once in the suite, you placed the audio bugs in each room as One directed through your ear piece. Not in the obvious places (like under the gold crested coffee table or behind a picture frame) but in more creative places (a fake flower in the vase, a snap on the curtains to the balcony, a fake button on the air conditioning controls, a decorative tassel on the set of keys to the desk, a fancy chocolate on the pillow). Once One was satisfied that there was a bug in every room of the suite he focused his attention on Four. The squeak of someone cleaning the floor-to-ceiling glass windows makes you jump. Turning, you saw a man with dark hair dressed in a maintenance uniform with a bushy mustache that looked like a caterpillar had taken up residence bellow the man’s bulbous nose. Four winked at you, before pulling a tool belt around his side.  
Before leaving the room, you dug around in the pile of clean towels and cleaning supplies until you found what you were looking for. The object was about the size of a large Pringle container with a small antenna on one end. With the push of a button, the chamber holding the fuel would break and the two chemicals would mix, releasing a potion of noxious gases: primarily nitrogen dioxide and carbon monoxide. When you were describing how the device acted similarly to that of a car engine the ghosts had all nodded in understanding. But once you wrote out the chemical formulas on the clear board in the team room and started explaining how you had engineered the system to release all the carbon monoxide into the vent, thus causing the stoichiometric ratios to favor even more production of carbon monoxide as the reaction tried to move toward equilibrium their eyes had glazed over. One seemed to follow the logic of the device and gave you the go-ahead to build it, but you weren’t convinced anyone really understood. The idea made you nervous. It was the first time a professor or your boss wasn’t there to check your work and correct you. Any errors or mistakes that went down regarding the success of the device would be fully on your shoulders. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw what could almost be described as a look of admiration on Four’s face before it vanished into his usual scowl he wore whenever you were talking. But the look never left his eyes as you went on to explain the rest of your part of the plan.  
Smiling at your handy work, you took off your shoes and stepped up on the royal bed to reach the air vent. Using a screwdriver, you removed the gold plated cover and stuck your head inside the dark tunnel. A glimmer of light about a foot down the vent showed the lavish furnishings of the suite next door, mirroring the suite of 3008. Luckily, no one was scheduled to be in the adjacent room that night, so you wouldn’t be at risk of harming any innocent people. Once the mission was complete, you would return the next day to clean the rooms and remove the device and any evidence of the ghost’s involvement in the mysterious indoor air pollution event that was about to go down. Keeping the chemical concoction in a horizontal position, you placed it just far enough down that it would be out of sight if anyone was to quickly glance in the vent. You also placed a spare bug in the vent for good measure before screwing the gold panel back into place and jumping down from the ridiculously tall pile of pillows. The stage had been set for your evening performance.  
Thanks to One’s bottomless credit card, your team had secured one of the presidential suites directly two floors above room 3008. You spent the afternoon organizing your gear and listening to Four and Seven go over the plan. While the plan had been adapted slightly from the original, after you had proposed knocking Viktor out with carbon monoxide, but the original goals remained. Viktor was set to check in at 4pm before meeting with the four generals. One would be watching the shady man strike his deal before alerting you, Four, and Seven to be ready when Viktor would return to his room after a night out on the town. You could picture One creeping from whatever shadow or corner he lurked in with his aviator sunglasses, messing with some fancy-ass piece of technology and sporting a scrappy beard and fake Minnesotan accent.   
Once Viktor returned to his suite for the evening, it was a waiting game. Your device was set to start producing carbon monoxide ten minutes before midnight. Hopefully, Viktor would record the deal on a hard drive or make some confirmation phone calls that Seven and One could listen in on and possibly gain some more information. The cameras placed by Four earlier (he wouldn’t let you do it despite your successful practice run) were set up to hopefully catch a glimpse of where the the bastard placed any easy-to-remove technology. Within a minute or two of midnight the smoke alarm would go off (smoke alarms were also sensitive to carbon monoxide as a required safety precaution). You had calculated the carbon monoxide concentration in the room to be non-lethal, just enough to set off the alarm and force everyone to vacate the room in a quick manner; assuming that the alarm was functioning. Once the suite was empty, Four would repel down on a fixed line to the balcony in an oxygen mask and steal any technology, or at least try to transfer any files before Viktor and his squad of killers could return. Fool proof plan, right?  
The presidential suites were even more luxurious than the royal suites below. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined the walls, making the space seem even larger and creating hundreds of repeated images of the marble pillars in the large entry space. To one of these pillars you looped a series of webbing and rope using carabiners, thus creating the anchor point for the fixed line.  
“Do you have two quick draws?” You asked, offering over the safety precautions. With the death of your climbing partner, back when you were still alive, you had vowed to always climb with some level of protection.  
“Nah, Darling.” Four waved them away, “I don’t need them.”  
“Please, Four.”  
“No. They’ll just clank around and make noise.” You both frowned. “Besides, I’m just gonna jumar my way back up and that only uses a locking carabiner.” Letting out a defeated sigh you left the crazy man to finish strapping on his backpack and checking his oxygen mask. The backpack was small, but it carried a variety of the most commonly used and high-end hard drives all with a corrupted system. If Viktor was found to have a matching hard drive, Four would replace it. Viktor would think it was a faulty piece of equipment but would certainly have back-ups and be none the wiser that his information had been stolen.   
“Eight,” Seven’s voice sounded from your ear piece. “I’m all set up in the building across the street. I have eyes on the room and I am receiving transmissions from the cameras and bugs loud and clear.”   
“Sounds good,” you answered. Your palms felt sweaty as the reality of your first mission hit you like a ton of bricks.   
“You excited?” Seven asked. He sounded genuine, but you knew the rest of the team was on edge. For both you and Seven, it was your first major mission with the rest of the ghosts and neither of you wanted to screw it up. Looking out the window at the building next door you tried to smile and hope that Seven could see it.  
“The deal has been made,” One’s authoritative voice came over the comms. “Viktor is heading back to the hotel. We have about seven hours to track him and see if he talks or uses his laptop.” The wheels of the plan were turning. Feeling restless, you entered the bedroom and looked at the long, elegant, two-piece cocktail dress Five had packed for you. Since Four refused to let you help search the room and the plan only required a static line, there was no reason for you to even stay in the room. One had assigned you to sexy stalker duty, though you had little experience in either department, and told you to be prepared to head down to the bars or gambling tables in case Viktor decided he wanted a drink. The dress had a tight, sleeveless crop top with sheer fabric that left little to the imagination. The long skirt piece sat high on your hips and had enough fabric that you could probably get away with keeping your tight, cropped climbing pants on underneath. For some reason, wearing the clothes you wore when you felt most confident, like climbing 300 feet off the ground, helped to ground you. Putting the dress on over your pants and then arguing with the wig and your make up for a solid half hour, you were finally ready to go be a creepy stalker should the need arise.   
The hardest part about the mission was waiting for the action to start. Viktor took his time walking the afternoon streets of Las Vegas with his evil squad before going out to an expensive restaurant. You occasionally received updates about Viktor’s location in the city from One. They came in breaks between the sound of gunfire and shouting as Two, Three, Five, and One took care of the four generals.   
“Just be glad he didn’t finish,” you heard at one point through the comms and you were glad you didn’t have to deal with whatever gross sex scene the others had interrupted.   
“Clean this up.” One instructed before giving you, Four, and Seven an update. “The GPS from Viktor’s phone indicates that the bastard is finishing up dinner and is heading back to the hotel.” You raised your head from the velvet couch you had been laying on for the past couple of hours and sat up. The waiting game was over. “Eight,” One addressed you, “head down to the bar and keep an eye on the lobby and attached gambling den. Seven, keep your eyes peeled.”  
“Copy,” Seven responded. You turned to Four and were about to wish him good luck before he interrupted you with,  
“Don’t say it.” You stopped with your mouth slightly open, confused. “Don’t say anything about luck or being scared or any bullshit like that.” Wow. You had known some superstitious climbers in your time, but never ones so openly against saying phrases. You rolled your eyes and headed for the door. Slipping out into the hallway you turned over your shoulder,  
“Have fun tonight.” You gave a small smile and left before he could take any issue with the comment.   


  
Sitting at the bar, you ordered a ginger ale with a lime, and began the oddly satisfying job of people watching. “Vegas, baby.” Three’s words came back to you from your planning session. A place of adult fun and scandalous activities. Bright flashing lights, loud noises, the ring of the games, an excited ‘yes’ followed by a more common curse as people played the tables. The rush of adrenaline was tangible in the air. It bubbled and fizzled about the finely dressed gamblers. And among them all, you caught a glimpse of Viktor’s unruly curls and he and three body guards dressed in fancy suits walked importantly through the lobby and on to the elevators.   
“He’s getting in the elevator now. Three body guards: two male, one female.” You reported.   
“On it,” Seven replied. You took a sip of the soda, your stomach felt more carbonated than the actual drink. A minute later, you heard the first words of the mission falling apart.  
“Shit, guys.” One’s voice came over the comms, stressed and anxious. “He changed rooms on us.”  
“What?” a pissed-off Four sounded livid. “Fuck, One, are you certain?”  
“Fuck, yes,” you imagined One pinching the bridge of his nose and pacing around the hotel room Seven was doing the stake-out in, “I’m certain.”   
“Do you know the new room number?” Seven asked.  
“Yes, it’s 3010.” You let out a sigh of relief.   
“That’s good.”  
“How is that good, Eight?” an image of Four anxiously pacing a hole in the rug flashed in your mind’s eye.   
“The room is right next door 3008. They share an air vent.”  
“We still can’t hear them or get a close enough look of the tech. I’ll be going in blind. Not to mention, the balcony I need to get to is now 30 feet to the side.”  
“And when has swinging around on a rope ever stopped you before?” You countered. “I put a bug in the air vent, you should be able to catch bits of any conversation that goes on in the bedroom.”  
“Nice thinking, Eight.” You glowed at One’s compliment. “Seven, do you have eyes on room 3010?”  
“I do, a light just went on in the room next door. The blinds are open and I can see both the living room and the bedroom.”  
“Then we adjust the plan and keep going.” One commanded.   
You spent the next hour tapping the extremely pointy toe of your high heels on the marble floor of the hotel restaurant and listening to Seven explain Viktor’s choice of drink at the mini bar in his suite before dismissing the guards to the hall. Finally, a triumphant Seven exclaimed,  
“He is sitting on his bed, talking on his cell phone, picking his nose, and is pulling out a laptop and a hard drive. I can’t tell the model, but it looks to be about 4 inches by 6 inches and is a sleek black color with a red stripe around the outside. Do we have a hard drive like that?”  
“We’ve got three possible candidates,” Four replied.   
“I wish I could tell you what’s being said but the bug is only picking up a weird language, Russian, maybe.”   
“It’s fine, keep an eye on him and prepare to do the swap.” One answered. “And if he runs out of the room with the hard drive, search the remaining luggage for anything else of value.”  
“Right.” Four confirmed.  
The hands on the clock over the bar slowly crept toward midnight. You walked around the lobby, the attached gambling hall, and finally parked yourself near the elevator right as 11:45 turned into 11:46. The butterflies in your gut seemed to be throwing a disco party as you stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the 32nd floor. Something else was about to go wrong.  
“How do we know when the smoke alarm goes off?” Four asked.  
“I’m assuming the guy will evacuate the suite, and the bug will pick up the sound.” Seven responded. Five more minutes passed and there was no indication of the bastard leaving. “It looks like he has fallen asleep. He put the laptop on the desk in the bedroom and the hard drive in the main compartment of his briefcase.”   
“Got it. I’m repelling down now,” the sound of a locking carabiner snapping shut made its way into Four’s audio.   
“I see you.” Seven said.  
“Tell me when I’m level with the floor and I’ll try to swing over to the balcony.”  
“Rodger. Hold off until the guy leaves.”  
Four more minutes passed. You exited the elevator and began making your way down the hall to the suite you and Four were sharing.  
“Shit, it looks like the alarm isn’t going off.” Seven reported.  
“I can just sneak in.” Four sounded over confident and slightly impatient.  
“That’s too risky. The alarm could go off any second.” One shot down the idea. “We need a distraction.”  
“I’m on it.” You had a plan. You weren’t sure where the idea came from; probably a TV show you watched in college. It would require climbing gear, red lipstick, and a hail Mary to whichever god happened to be watching your corner of the world tonight. “Did anyone pack lingerie?”  
“Yeah, Eight,” One’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I always bring sexy lingerie with me when I go to Vegas.” If people kept sassing you like this your eyes were going to roll out of their sockets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone! Thank you so much for the encouraging comments and support- it really means a lot. Things are starting to get busy in my life so I might have to start posting chapters biweekly or even more sparatically depending on how crazy things get but please know that I haven't forgotten about this story. 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy
> 
> ~C


	9. Apparently Nobody Brought Lingerie

Four wasn’t sure what Eight was planning when she asked for lingerie and he was confused why it would be on the packing list in the first place. The thoughts in Four's mind drifted from annoyance to curiosity before he hastily shoved an image of a lace-clad Eight out of his mind and focused back on the task at hand. He didn’t mind being 30 stories up over the bustling streets of Las Vegas although he did feel felt slightly out of his element since he was dangling from a rope instead of running over the roof tops. But he would have time to explore the highest corners of the city later.

He had lowered himself to the balcony that he had originally planted the cameras at. All that was left to do was coordinate swinging 30 feet horizontally on the rope while giving himself enough slack to stay level with the balcony. It took a couple swings back and forth of him pushing off the balcony before he had enough momentum to reach his target location. On one of his unsuccessful attempts he smashed hard into the balcony, his back making contact with the lower concrete part. Shit. It sort of hurt, but the backpack absorbed most of the impact. Finally, he reached out a gloved hand and caught the metal railing of the balcony. He was about to step over the faded iron bar and on to the concrete floored balcony when Seven’s voice stopped him. 

  
“Hold up for just a second, Four.”

  
Cursing under his breath, he held himself to the side, and out of sight of anyone in the room. A sillouete inside the room stirred, then moved across the half closed drapes. 

  
“Ok, you’re clear.”

With the go ahead from Seven, he pulled himself over the railing, unclipped from the static line, and then anchored the lone rope to one of the bars of the balcony with a loose knot. He then set to picking the lock on the sliding glass door. It was easy enough, given his background as a thief, and he nimbly had the lock clicking into the “unlocked position” as he listened in on the strangest conversation of his life happening through the ear piece.

  
“Who are you?” A sleepy Viktor croaked in the background.

  
“A present from the four generals,” Eight’s fake British accent was downright insulting, but for some reason, Viktor didn’t pick up on it. Maybe the carbon monoxide was working.

  
“A present,” Viktor’s voice seemed to evaluate Eight for a second. “You do look scrumptious.” 

  
Four fought back the reflex to gag. Opening the backpack he dug around in the darkness until he found the oxygen mask. Pulling it over his head, he flipped the switch and inhaled deeply. There was a slight crack in the face plate, but it didn’t seem that big of a deal. He only needed a couple of minutes, anyway. Psyching himself up, he carefully opened the sliding glass door, quickly stepped inside, and closed it with a soft, ‘swish.’ With blood pumping rapidly thorough his veins, Four glanced around the room, orienting himself. 

  
“May I come it?” Four pictured Eight batting her long eyelashes and tossing a ringlet of curls from her wig over her shoulder as the wanker just ate her up. He was guessing she was still in her dress from earlier. The dress that would put the entire hotel in danger if they saw her in it. Damn, focus Four, where the hell was the briefcase. Seven had said something about it being next to the desk.

  
“Please,” the sound of the door creeping open wider, before Viktor let out a low growl. “Woah there, uhhh,” 

  
“My name is Victoria,” Eight purred, “But you can call me whatever you want.”

More shuffling sounds and the soft shifting of velvet cushions. Yes! Four had finally located the briefcase. He felt a dull ache in his forehead has he began searching through all the pockets with his black-gloved hands.

  
“Take it off.” The gruff voice of Viktor filtered through the half open doorway in the bedroom. Eight giggled before replying,

  
“In good time.”

Holy balls. Four refocused his brain on the task of finding the hard drive and not locating the bastard in the other room with the sole goal of beating him to a pulp.

“But I’ll give you a peak.”   
Four was beyond frustrated. None of the pockets in the briefcase had a hard drive. 

  
“Shit guys, I can’t find it.” he whispered to Seven, hoping the sniper could give him a clue. The slightest inkling of panic was beginning to set in. 

  
“I saw him put it in there.” Seven tried to reassure Four. “Try the main compartment again.”

Four tried again, feeling around the depths of the bag. His hand glanced over several file folders and a small pistol before finding a tab at the bottom of the bag. Blinking away the heavy fog in his eyes and brain, he pulled up on the tab. The hard drive was there, in a secret compartment. Quickly, Four removed it and set the hard drive on the table. Swinging the backpack over his shoulder, he dug out the three corrupt hard drives he had brought along. 

  
“Now, what should I do with you.” Eight purred. Christ, how far was Eight planning on taking this call-girl stripper charade?

  
“Let’s,” yawn, “move this to the bedroom, shall we?” Viktor sounded distant to the world and a small part of Four was annoyed that the man was yawning with a half naked Eight doing who knew what to him. But Four was also feeling far away from reality as he squinted to try match the size and color of the hard drive to the decoys. If his mind would only fucking focus instead of running wild with the scene in the other room he could just replace the hard drive and be done with it all.

  
“Four, you alright?” Seven asked, seeming to sense Four’s lethargy. 

  
“Fucking fantastic.” he managed, before hopefully selecting the right replacement hard drive.

It took what felt like eons to find the hidden compartment again, and he managed it just before black spots started popping across his vision. What was going on with him? He tried taking in a deep breath to clear his mind but the air he pulled in gave no relief to his headache.

  
“No, let’s stay here,” Eight’s voice sounded as if it was at the other end of a mile long tunnel instead of inside his own ear. “I like the position we’re in.” The was a sharp intake of breath from the bastard which pissed Four off even more.

  
“Eight, hurry up and seduce the man or knock him out. Four needs help.”

No, Seven. He did not need help from Eight, thank you very much. Eight was the reason he was in this mess in the first place. Something about noxious gases and lingerie. Four gave out a cough. He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be doing or where he was. He thought that he should be panicking about something but all he could think about was how hot his face felt and how tight his chest was. They burned for something that lay just out of reach. Suddenly, he felt an itchy fabric touch his neck as he found himself looking up at the ceiling. Then his eyes found the crack in the mask. Shit. This wasn’t good.

  
***

  
You watched as Viktor’s eyes drifted closed from your position straddling his lap on the couch. There were two main factors in carbon monoxide poisoning: concentration in the air, and time of exposure. You were banking on the fact that Viktor had been in the bedroom for the past ten minutes, thus being exposed to a higher concentration of the gas from the vent right above the bed. In contrast, you had been in the living room for a maximum of five minutes and the living room/entry-way would have a lower concentration of the poisonous gas. Still, you were beginning to feel a raging headache coming on as Viktor’s filthy hands roamed over your bra. It wasn’t a bombshell bra or anything, but in Viktor’s addled state he didn’t seam to notice or care. 

  
“I’ve never had an escort like you before,” his hands wandered up to stroke your check as he laid his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. You choked back vomit

  
“And I bet you never will have anyone quite like me again.”

The man’s caramel skin looked sallow as you tapped his face with your lilac painted nails. No response. You needed to move fast if you were going to vent out the rooms and avoid killing the man since the smoke detector seemed to be broken. Standing up from the couch, you let the skirt of your dress fall around your feet in a puddle of silky, pleated fabric. You had worn the skirt to hide the pair of skin-tight black shorts, climbing harness, gear, and gun that you had strapped to your thigh. 

  
“Four needs help,” Seven’s voice was urgent. Your mind began weaving a new plan as you rushed to the bedroom.  
Four was sprawled out on the floor. He seemed to be drunkenly trying to pick himself up, but kept stumbling over his own limbs before ending up back where he started.

  
“Four, what’s wrong?” You made it to the desk in two steps and began to examine him. His face was flushed red except for his lips which were turning violet. His eyes blinked furiously as he fought to stay conscious, giving you a look of panic is in his sunflower eyes under the oxygen mask. The mask, that had to be it. Your eyes found the cracks in the face plate and you began to put the puzzle together. The only real ‘cure’ for carbon monoxide poisoning was to remove the person from the source and get them into fresh air. Your brain was beginning to feel sluggish as you looked around the desk, trying to figure out the best course of action.

  
“What’s the problem, Eight?” Seven asked.

  
“Four has a crack in his mask and hasn’t had fresh oxygen in over six minutes.” You reported back. “We need to get him outside.”

  
“Grab the hard drives and put them in the backpack, Four already made the swap,” Seven instructed.

You did as you were told, fighting the fatigue and fog as you shoved the technology into the backpack. You also removed Four’s mask and put it in the pack too- you may have over estimated your ability to design a carbon monoxide device. And why hadn’t the damn alarm gone off already? You did your best to pick up Four, but the skywalker weighted like a ton of bricks.

  
“Let’s go, Four,” you used your most patient, adult voice to try to coax him off the ground and helped him walk over to the balcony. Leaning on the glass to support the almost limp weight in your arms, you slid the door open into the night. The air that hit your face was slightly humid, bitingly frigid, and has the stench of pollution and traffic mixed with the smell of street food. It was the best taste of air you had ever mercifully gulped in. You led Four out onto the narrow balcony and gently patted his cheek,

  
“Wake up. Come on you sack of potatoes.” He managed a dry cough but still looked dazed. “Can you stand here for me?”

Four gave a feeble nod and you cautiously released him. He stood against the railing, looking deflated as he slowly gasped in more and more fresh air. Taking a series of deep breathes to saturate your blood stream with oxygen, you dashed back into the suite and retrieved the two parts of your dress. You needed to remove any and all evidence of the ghosts being there. The silky fabric was heavier than you had expected as you roughly shoved it into the backpack before placing the pack over your shoulders and dashing back out onto the balcony as Four slowly collected his wits. 

  
“I think you guys are out of the woods.” Seven said “Viktor is beginning to wake up on the couch. I guess the carbon monoxide device ran out of fuel”. 

  
“Shut,” cough, “Shut up Seven.” Four wheezed. 

  
It was at that precise moment that the smoke alarm finally decided to go off. 

  
“Crap,” you looked around the balcony, starting to panic, as a loud blaring noise stirred the dazed Viktor from the his spot on the couch. Quickly, you closed the sliding door and looked around for an escape route.

  
“Climb over the banister, Four.” 

  
“What?” Four was still in a daze. 

  
“Climb over the banister,” you instructed again and demonstrated what you meant by putting one of your bare feet, then the other, over the metal railing. Four did his best to quickly follow and while his muscle memory still knew how to climb his brain was not quite cooperating. 

  
“You guys need to get the hell out of there,” Seven said, “Viktor’s body guards are entering the room.”

Crap. Crappity Crap Crap. You managed to get Four to crouch down low, then to remove his feet and just hang off the bars of the balcony to stay out of sight. 

  
“Where is your static line?” You hissed in a whisper?

Four looked confused. His face was turning red again from the effort of using his muscles too soon after loosing a few brain cells. He looked like he was about to fall. You felt your heart drop 30 stories down to the sidewalk below as you looked for something, anything, to keep Four from falling. Letting your feet dangle in the open air below you, you let go with one hand and felt under the concrete balcony. A bar of cold metal met your hand, and you let out a sigh of relief. Unclipping a quickdraw from a loop on the back of your harness, you clipped one side to the bar under the balcony while the other side remained clipped to your belay loop on the front of your harness. Cautiously, you let the bar bear your weight as you turned to Four.

  
“Where are your quickdraws?” You asked your dangling teammate. 

  
“Didn’t bring any.” Four huffed out.

He looked like he was on the verge of passing out. Sweat speckled his hairline and the violet tint to his once warm lips had return. What and idiot. Without wasting another second, you pulled out the second quick draw. Leaving one side attached to your belay loop, you quickly clipped the other side to Four’s belay loop. Before you could unclip your side of the quickdraw and clip the carabiner to the bar under the balcony Four’s head gave a nod as his strong hands slipped off the metal bars. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for taking so long to post this chapter. Please hang tight for these next 2 months as things are really crazy for me. It should get more regular in November. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support and encouragement. Stay safe and healthy.


	10. A Sack of Potatoes

You only had time to suck in a small amount of air before a searing hot pain ripped across your waist as the feeling of being pulled in half took over all other senses. The pained scream that you let out was quickly followed by a whimper as you took in the gravity of the situation. Four swung from his harness, belly up, directly below you as the quickdraw you had managed to attach to him just in time creaked under the strain of the muscular man’s weight. You felt the webbing of your harness as though it were a hot knife and regretted the fact that you were currently shirtless. Had you been wearing any top piece of clothing, you might have avoided the majority of the laceration. Instead, your harness pinched the soft skin above your hips, around your belly button, and across your lower back as you used your body to hold up the delirious blonde.

“Oh Shit!” Seven was shouting into your ear. “Eight, Four, are you alright?” You groaned and took another breath, trying to expand your chest enough under the pressure of holding up a body with your back and waist, to get enough air in to for words. “Eight? Four? One of you needs to answer me.”

“We’re good.” Your voice sounded raspy. “We’ll just hang out here until Four gets enough oxygen back in his system to function again.” Taking the next breath was a battle. Every time you tried to move or shift the weight to your harness you felt a pulsing pain shoot from your lower back and core. When they say not to lift weights with your back, this was what they meant.

“Fuck, that was wild.” Seven responded.

“What happened?” One’s voice sounded concerned. You let Seven do the talking as you tried to rouse Four again. Turning your body so that you hung almost upside down you could barely reach Four’s blue-tinted face.

“Hey.” you gently gripped his shoulder and winced as new pain shot from the pinching of your harness. “Wake up you sack of potatoes.”

****

There were several things Four was not used to. Being woken up to the name of ‘sack of potatoes’ coming from the lips of the woman he had spent the night and was currently shirtless with was something he could add to his list of firsts. He was also not used to coming to full consciousness with the night wind whipping his dangling body around like a cat playing with a mouse hanging from a string. But there he was, dangling high above a city from what appeared to be one of Eight’s quickdraws. He followed the thin piece of webbing up to a half naked Eight with a lopsided wig and a crinkle of worry across her forehead. The fog in his mind that had weighed so heavily a couple minutes ago was clearing up like a brief afternoon thunderstorm.

“Shit, Eight,” he looked down at the bright lights of world below him. “You could have killed me.” The worry on Eight’s brow vanished, replaced by a hard line of annoyance.

“I believe I just saved your ass from falling off this balcony.” Her melodious voice was tight, strained under some weight. Oh yeah, that weight would be him.

“Not before your fucking science project almost suffocated me.” Memories of the mission going not according to planned fueled his anger. He licked his cracked lips, remembering the taste of empty air, devoid of the life saving oxygen and shuddered. No matter how many breaths he gulped down he never felt refreshed.

“If you hadn’t been a barbarian and smashed your oxygen mask, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

“Both of you need to shut it,” Seven reported in to the comms. “Viktor’s men are about to check the balcony". Four was about to reply when he heard the balcony door slide open. Heavy booted feet sounded like a giant from above and Four was forced to hold down his anger. But, he would get the final word in. Eight needed to understand that she was too young and too inexperienced for this line of work. That her actions had consequences, one of which would have been his suffocation. He set about planing the case he would bring to One as he listened through the ear piece to Seven narrating the events happening in the suite above. How the smoke alarm had finally stopped beeping, and Viktor had immediately called the front desk to report the alarm. They promised to send a maintenance worker to check the device; cue One’s part in the plan.

While One made his way up to the room Viktor’s body guards searched the suite for any source of flames or other disturbances. Their constant presence did not allow for a window for Four and Eight to escape their predicament. One showed up to the suite as the midnight maintenance guy and gave the smoke detector a ‘thorough’ inspection before declaring it was faulty and repeatedly apologizing for any inconvenience it had caused. Through the bug placed in the vent, Seven hear snippets of conversation among the body guards.

“First that annoying bachelor party down the hall, now a shitty smoke detector. The boss will not be please.”

“What was he doing, falling asleep on the couch anyway?”

“It’s best not to question the man’s choices, or you’ll lose the job.” The older body guard said to the two youngsters.

“The young man and woman body guards look like kids.” Seven commented. “Someone with a lot of money just handed them a gun and a fancy suit and now they are playing James Bond.” Huh, Four thought, his mind bitterly going to Eight. The balcony door remained open for about an hour after that, but it felt like an eternity to Four. This was why he hated wearing a harness. They were great if you didn’t need to put your weight on them, but there was a reason no one hung out all strung up in a climbing harness all day. After 20 minutes, Four could feel the leg loops beginning to dig uncomfortably into his quads, after 30 minutes, his abs started having trouble holding his body in an up-right position. At the 40 minute mark, he was down right pissed and any force, either from the wind below or from Eight shifting in her harness above that caused the razor sharp fabric to even move an inch. When the pins and needles tickled his lower body at the 50 minute mark, he looked up to Eight to encourage her to reach for the static line. Fuck being stealthy, he needed to get out of this position before he lost feeling in his legs. His sudden movement caused Eight to let out a pained whine.

“For the last fucking time,” Eight whispered angrily, “stop moving. It fucking hurts.” The cursing had started at the 25 minute mark. Four liked it when she finally lost control of her composure and started cussing him out. He found the idea of annoying the perfectly patient and poised Eight amusing. Her montage of creative insults almost sounded rehearsed; like she had been practicing the entire speech for weeks.

“Seven, are we clear to climb back up?” Four whispered into the night.

“If you move quickly and quietly then yes.”

“Got it,” Four reached his gloved hand out for the static line he had left tied to the balcony with a slip knot. Giving the rope a hard tug he felt it come loose in his firm grip.

“Ouch!” Eight whisper screamed from above.

“Quit whining, Eight.” Despite his dismissive words, Four spared her another glance. While he had had the option to sit up while hanging, she had been forced to maintain a horizontal position, being pulled up on one side to the balcony and down on the other by him. As Eight shifted to adjust her weight to account for his motions, Four felt a droplet hit his cheek. Rain? No. The night was clear; not a cloud hung in the desert sky. Besides, they were under a balcony. Reaching up with his gloved hand, Four wiped away the droplet before examining it. In the faint city lights the dark liquid shined mockingly back at him. Shit. They had been so close to executing a mission without losing a single drop of blood. With nimble, dexterous hands, Four quickly threaded the rope through the jumar and the grigri.

As soon as he had double checked that everything was locked shut he pulled up hard on the static line, trusting his weight to the climbing gear instead of the woman above. Eight’s scream began as one of pain but quickly became a deep intake of breath as she filled her lungs full for the first time in an hour. With his mind clear of the carbon monoxide and the promise of the wind in his hair, Four grasped the top of the balcony and pulled himself up just enough to unclip the quick draw connecting him to Eight.

“Do you have a grigri and jumar.” His eyes found hers as she righted herself into a sitting position. It was a miracle all of Las Vegas didn’t hear the bones in her spine pop and crackle back into place as she sat up.

“Yeah,” Eight pulled the two aid climbing devices from a gear loop on the back of her harness, showing them to Four.

“I’ll swing the rope over when I get back to the room, Darling.” Eight nodded before Four let go of the balcony. The thrill of the cold breeze from thirty stories up was a feeling Four missed. Being stuck in the hot California desert for the past year had stolen his freedom of running across skyscrapers. But that made this moment even sweeter. Four slowed his swing before he began to climb the rope. He first slid the jumar up the line, it was a handle on a device that would only slide in one direction and lock in place if force was applied in the opposite direction. He had looped a piece of webbing around the handle and the loop hung next to his knee. Placing his foot in the loop, he simultaneously stood up and pulled the rope through the grigri attached to his belay loop. The jumar held his weight and didn’t slip down. It was slower than climbing, but there were no hand or foot holds on the glass walls of the hotel. Four made quick work of the two story climb, alternating between sliding the jump up the rope and stepping on the loop to pull his body up.

The pull over the railing to the balcony of the presidential suite was not as graceful of an event as he would have liked but he gave himself some slack. Who knew how many brain cells he had lost that night- and he only had so many to lose. He knew he didn’t have the scientific brains that Eight had and it gnawed on him that One had found another Skywalker who had an IQ to match the crazy heights at which she climbed. Turning his thoughts back to Eight, he unclipped from the rope and returned to the balcony.

“Alright, Eight. I’m going to try to swing the rope over to you.”

“Ok, I’m ready.” the voice in his ear was almost an octave higher than her normal tone. Swinging the rope was cumbersome. He should have attached a weight to the end to give the thin line some direction in the high velocity winds.

“A little more the left,” Eight tried to direct him. “No, your other left.” Four rolled his eyes and tried again. “Got it!” Eight sounded triumphant. The sound of gear clicking echoed through the comms before the swoosh of air as she swung out from under the balcony.

It took nearly twenty minutes for Eight to make the assent, almost twice as long as it had taken Four. Occasionally, a small groan or squeak could be heard from her end, but Eight seemed to be keeping the drama to a minimum. Four went into the living room of the suite and started packing up his gear pack and the remaining corrupt hard drives.

“You alright, Eight?” Seven asked. Four could feel eyes on the balcony as he pictured Seven evaluating the scene through his fancy-ass binoculars.

“Fine.” Eight rasped. That’s when Four knew something was seriously wrong. He abandoned packing his set of quickdraws and threw open the french doors in the fancy-as-fuck bedroom. He was at the balcony in two more steps, just in time to see Eight’s jumar crest the balcony’s edge. In the warm glow of the bedside lamp, Eight looked like a ghost. Well, a ghost with a wind swept wig and smeared make up that made her eyes look like black holes, and, was that? Four shuddered as Eight unceremoniously fell from the banister of the balcony onto the concrete floor. Blood. Her bare torso was streaked with the dried dark brown liquid and her once blue Petzl harness had become soaked like a crimson sponge.

“Seven,” Four was on full defense mode. “Find Five.” Four heard Seven spewing a string of curses as he tried calling into the doctor’s earpiece.

“No,” Eight pulled herself to her bare feet. Bare feet!? What the hell was she thinking? She could have stepped on any number of spiky things in all this time. “I’m fine. Really. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“I don’t know, Darling. That looks pretty gnarly.” Four took another step toward Eight but she took a step backwards. Four felt the tiniest tang of sadness as Eight rejected his effort to help. Granted he had never offered her any help in the past, so it made sense she wouldn’t accept it now. Her eyes followed his to her bra.

“Then stop looking.” She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. Four could see the tiny details of goose bumps creeping up her arms. The temperature was about 35 degrees this high up, and the blue in Eight’s lips and face gave away how cold the woman actually was. “I just need to wash it and I’ll be fine.” She shivered past him into the warmth of the room. Her frozen fingers fumbled as she unclipped the backpack before tossing the valuable item on to the golden comforter before making a B-line for the bathroom.

“Don’t get blood on the carpet.” was all Four could manage. Why was there no filter between his mouth and his brain? Eight gave him a time saving gesture that involved her middle finger raised high above her head before slamming the bathroom door shut with a loud bang. Four felt like a jerk, and the fact that he felt that way made him angry. Angry at himself, angry at One. Angry at the world. He didn’t know how to babysit, so why had One given him the most difficult task of taking care of the newbie? And man, what was One going to say when he found out how badly Four had failed. Maybe for the next mission, Three had said something about Hong Kong over the comms earlier that day, he could actually try sitting on Eight, as the term ‘baby sitting’ suggested, to keep her from going full Mad-Chemist-Stripper on his ass.

The sound of the shower running from behind the bathroom door brought Four back to the present.

“Well that went better than planned.” One was back on the comms after convincing the chemical weapons dealer two floors below that the smoke detector was faulty. “Nice job everyone.” Four frowned. Was this what One called ‘success’? After things had gone to shit in Florence, Four guessed the bar wasn’t set very high. “Eight, how do I remove the device form the vents?” One asked.

“She’s washing up.” Four replied for Eight. She had probably taken the ear piece out.

“What? Why? She can’t be done yet. I need her to remove the device and the bugs.” One sounded perturbed that Eight couldn’t come to the phone at his beck and call.

“She’s trying to prevent blood from getting on the carpet,” Seven responded in a biting tone. So he didn’t approve of Four’s treatment of the new recruit. Fine.

“Blood?” One asks. “Where’s Five?”

“Not responding. But Eight said she was fine.” Seven confirmed. Four made a mental note to go find the doctor.

“Alright, well I’m going to extract the device while I’m here doing maintenance. Maybe then we can be out of this city by noon tomorrow.” Everyone gave a nod of agreement before signing off for the night. If Four was lucky, he could find Five somewhere in this hotel or the fancy Viceroy place the rest of the ghosts had infiltrated earlier that day, and then spend a couple hours exploring the roof tops before catching a couple hours of sleep. Despite being awake for nearly 18 hours, he didn’t feel tired yet. He had some thinking he needed to do about Eight, and those kinds of internal conversations were best conducted outside, many stories off the ground, and with a shot of something hard and bitter.


End file.
